


Barad-en-Elei

by erobey



Category: Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-13
Updated: 2012-10-12
Packaged: 2017-11-16 04:55:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 101,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/535749
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/erobey/pseuds/erobey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is Third Age 425. Celebrian and Elrond are happily ruling Imladris, their daughter Arwen newly come of age and off on her first protracted stay in Lothlorien. Glorfindel is still in Aman. Arantar rules in Arnor; Ostoher rules in Gondor. The lands of Eriador are at peace; in fact the whole of Arda rests after the victory over Sauron at the Last Alliance. Elladan is just two-hundred-ninety-five years old.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One: Elladan

### ~ Part One: Elladan ~

_Come at once to Himling Cove. Your brother has need of you._

The note was ominous in its brevity, the elegant script scrawled hurriedly across the top of the parchment stark and startling against the expanse of blank space below, a pale void packed with dark dread. Not even a signature alleviated the severe quality of the message, but neither was any needed for Elrohir knew well the hand of his old tutor and friend. Even had he not recognised the writing, those last four words would have called him even from his marriage bed; though the place named be Mordor itself, nothing would deter his immediate obedience.

_Come at once._

He had done so, leaving the sheltered valley that had been his family's home since the Second Age without notifying anyone, not his parents, not the groom who helped him saddle his mare, not the border guards who hailed him as he raced through the ford in a flying spray of muddy water. Even Echuil'laer knew nothing and assuredly his beloved would be sick with worry ere long. Elrohir cursed and drew up short, Nirmë already wet with patchy sweat more from her master's mood than real exhaustion, and they were only half way across Rhudaur. The duchy was a new colony of Arnor and with urgent words he set his horse galloping for the principal town, a humble collection of houses surrounded by a sturdy stockade.

He was well known here, he and his brother, though the people could never tell them one from the other. It didn't matter; Imladris and Arnor were closer than allies and his demands would be met without question. At the gates he leaped to the ground and landed running, cloak billowing, hair dancing, and covered the distance to the dumbstruck warden with urgent speed. The gatekeeper watched him come with eyes huge and filled with alarm, hand reaching for the heavy rope of the bell-pull, ready to sound the alert for surely some dire attack must be imminent, so anguished and desperate was the elf's expression.

_Your brother has need of you._

"Quick, man, a quill and parchment!" Elrohir shouted, slowing to a stop that was not a stop, for he paced and muttered to himself as he waited for the warden to comply with his wish. At last the items were pushed into his hands and he leaned upon the rough boards of the simple table, scribbling out a terse explanation, signing it, dating it, rolling it tight. "Wax!" he bellowed, angry that it wasn't there to hand, and when the tallow dripped over the seam crushed his signet ring into it.

"Your swiftest horse and rider must bear this at once to Rivendell," he ordered, thrusting the document into the man's hands, turning and racing from the gates, whistling for his steed, vaulting onto her back as she cantered near. He didn't wait to know if his directive was carried out, no longer concerned. The warden would see to it; another short, soul-jarring missive delivered to Elrond that would only inflame his worry and chill the hearts of his wife and law-daughter to be.

_Called away at urgent need. Do not follow. Look for me at the ford in one tour of Ithil._

What vain words were those, he knew, for his father would most assuredly follow, Echuil'laer with him. Yet he was certain that was exactly the worst thing that could befall Elladan right now, for the message had come to him for him alone, and so he plotted a subtle subterfuge, laying down a misleading trail by swapping Nirmë for a Ranger's horse. Nirmë obeyed and carried the man on to his destination, Carn Dûm, while Elrohir rode as if his brother's life hung in the balance, knowing it very well might. Sensing now, as he had not before _~why did I not?~_ the excruciating sorrow and desperation his twin was suffering, he drove his mount past exhaustion. In such a state, might Elladan not make the wrong choice? Elrohir shook his head, clenching his jaws to keep inside the ferocious shout of angry denial that thought spawned. He would not lose Elladan, not now, not ever. There must be time, there must still be hope.

He rode for the northern coast of Forlond, the wild, jagged land where only Avarin elves chose to dwell in sight of Himling, the island forlorn and bleak, its history as bitter and blasted as the barren coast. There stood the crumbling shell of a fair castle, majestic and venerable in its ruin and rubble, all that remained of Himring, the mighty fortress of Maedhros, eldest son of Feänor the Kin-slayer.

It took him ten days to get there, changing horses daily, stopping for only that and water, devouring way-bread on the run. At the pass through Emmyn Beraid he was hailed by a guide, a scout of Avarin descent, her upswept eyes and rich red locks alien and compelling. The road was abandoned. Through unknown lands and unmapped passes she led Elrohir through Ered Lhuin, through the thick green woods of its foothills, down to the rocky shore, its surf-carved cliffs a surreal landscape of fantastic arches, turrets, and tumbled towers.

There Erestor met him, quiet and exuding great relief, gripped him at the arms, begged forgiveness, babbling about his father, madness, and the perfidy of the Valar. Elrohir could only stare in astonishment, never having discovered the stalwart seneschal in any mood but disciplined composure. Nothing he said made any sense and finally Elrohir reversed the hold, taking his old tutor by the shoulder and giving him a brisk shake to silence him.

"Where is he?" he demanded. "What has happened here?"

"Treachery!" cried Erestor, "but not on Elladan's part nor Adaren's, I swear it to you by all I hold sacred!"

Elrohir pushed past him, an inarticulate blasphemy seeping past his scowling lips, scrambling over the uneven ground, eyes sweeping the jumbled outcrops for some sign of his brother. When it came, it was auditory rather than visual, and the sound shook Elrohir to his core. Plaintive, pleading, cracked and broken, Elladan's voice rose amid the wailing winds, calling, singing, begging for someone to come back, come back and claim him, come back and gather up his heart and heal its fractured chambers.

"Elladan!' he shouted, running in the direction of the sound which rose and fell like the roar of the tide, sometimes masked by the pounding waves, sometimes mingling with it so that its frantic refrain of misery echoed, magnified and expanded until it was an unearthly noise, the screech of a soul tearing loose from the body that housed it. "Elladan!" he shouted again, bursting past the screen of boulders and broken slabs until the sea was revealed in all its endless majesty and on the strand before it, his brother.

The railing and keening ceased and Elladan turned to gape at him, eyes round with confusion and disbelief. He half-raised his arm, almost smiled, and then realisation hit and he cried out and turned away, covering his face with his hands.

Elrohir was beside him in seconds, but where normally he would not hesitate to gather his brother in a close embrace, now he feared to do so. Had he ever seen Elladan like this? Nay, not even after battle, not even after being wounded.

_~Muindor?~_

"Why are you here? _How_ are you here? You must go, Elrohir," wailed Elladan, face still averted, arms wrapped around his chest, trying to cover himself with the remnants of his rended clothes, shame in every gesture, misery in every syllable.

"Go? You know I cannot. Valar, Elladan, what has happened to you?" Elrohir placed a tentative hand on the stooped shoulder, surveying the dismal state his twin presented.

Always vain about their appearance, the twins shared a proud, self-assured appreciation of the heads they turned. Never was their hair ungroomed, even before battle they were careful to bind up their locks to guard them from damage, and their attire was never less than neat and proper, silk and velvet topping leather and mail. Now Elladan's ebony locks drifted in the prevailing westerly wind, unwashed and unkempt, matted into ungainly ropes crusted with salt from the spray of the sea. His clothes were but tatters, for he had rent them in his anguish and despair, and the rags hung upon his tall frame exposing tanned flesh to the elements. His body sagged, shoulders hunched over in-drawn abdomen; his legs trembled faintly. He looked gaunt and starved as though he had taken no nourishment for many days, which was true. Robbed of moisture by the searing sun that beat down upon the forbidding shore, his lips were cracked and dry. Tormented, filled with terror, remorse, and desperation, his grey eyes were rimmed red, lashes clotted with the residue of tears.

"I do not want you here," he moaned, swaying as he ran frenzied hands through unruly tresses, clutching and pulling as though to yank the hair out. "Go home to your betrothed; there is nothing you can do for me." His eyes shifted briefly to his brother's; a shudder and a wince followed as he noted the appalled and outraged expression on Elrohir's face and turned away.

"No. Tell me what has happened," demanded Elrohir, again taking hold of Elladan's arm but this time firmly, possessively. He swallowed and forced himself to ask what he most feared. "Have you chosen, Elladan?"

"You ask me this now?" Elladan tore free and spun in fury to face him, wild and mad with grief or rage or both Elrohir could not tell, and fell back a pace from him. "Do you truly not know the answer, Muindor?" His voice was rough, replete with taunting agony; tears filled his eyes and slid away down his cheeks as a great, hoarse sob shook him so hard that he was felled.

Elrohir caught him easily and held him tight, horrified to witness this debasement and degradation, yet he could not speak for fear of being lost to the heartbreak it engendered.

"I chose the same day you chose, and I chose the same fate you did," mourned Elladan in absolute excruciation as if he had just revealed his lot to be death by slow and brutal torture. "What shall I do now? I cannot unmake the decision!" he ranted, voice cutting the air like a blunt razor tearing flesh. "How can I bear it?"

"Ai, Elladan, please, please, Muindor," soothed Elrohir and now he gave in to the tears, letting them bathe his brother's bowed head where it lay heavy against his shoulder.

For long minutes they remained thus as each poured out the salty effluence of afflicted souls and broken bonds. At length there was nothing left to give to such wretchedness as this and they fell quiet. Elladan clutched to his brother with the last of his fading strength and summoned up one last request of his twin, upon whom he had ever relied and always supported. He raised his head and met Elrohir's eyes, the courage required to do so greater than any needed in battle, for he could not bear to suffer his brother's disgust and scorn.

"Forgive me, Elrohir. Forgive me for I have paid. I have paid."

He sagged in his brother's arms, consciousness mercifully fleeing, sparing his tortured mind the answer.

  
The cottage was warm and close, as tidy an abode as any Elrohir had ever entered, and he was grateful his brother had found such a welcoming place to inhabit in this austere, unforgiving land. The homely touches of hand-woven curtains died a sunny yellow at the windows and soft braided rag rugs spiralled beneath his bare feet soothed his frantic worries; Elladan had not been entirely without comfort here. Outside, the storm raged, thrashing the palm trees about and throwing fistfuls of rain against the glass panes and down the chimney, where they sizzled into steam upon meeting the crackling heat of the cheerful fire. In the fringes of the flame a great pot hung and from the heavy iron vessel arose an inviting aroma of meat and broth and vegetables: a hearty stew simmered there.

The place was small, no more than six rooms, one of those a chamber for washing, another the kitchen, but it was well appointed, filled with finely crafted furniture, paintings, plants in bright ceramic pots perched on the windowsills, and books crowded into a floor to ceiling shelf that spanned the entire rear wall of the front room. There was scarcely space for the quantity of stuff crammed into the little house, but the cramped clutter lent the cottage an intimate feeling, a sense that this was a true homestead rather than a temporary abode for visitors to a strange land. Indeed, it was someone's home and that person moved about in the kitchen with the understated privilege of ownership: the Avarin guide. She appeared briefly in the parlour and handed Elrohir two tall, earthenware mugs from which arose a tangy scent. Casting a maternal eye over Elladan, she retreated to an inner room without comment.

He was stretched out upon an ample sofa before the dancing flames in the hearth, a light quilt lay draped over him, his head pillowed against a plush cushion. He was clean now and dressed in a loose top and comfortable sleeping trousers, hair dry and combed, the weighty strands gently braided just enough to keep them tame and tangle-free but not so much to be uncomfortable or confining. Bare toes peeked from under the coverlet and still hands rested placidly atop his stomach. A warm, damp cloth protected his tear-strained eyes from the lamp-light. Elladan was quiet, resting but no longer senseless, calmer though still immured in grief, easier in his skin now that Elrohir had bathed and cared for him.

"Muindoren, drink and be revived," murmured Elrohir, approaching and sitting on the floor beside his prostrate brother, bearing in his hands the mug of warm, aromatic mead. He removed the cloth and smiled into the weary, harried eyes that peered up at him, lifted the heavy head, held the cup to Elladan's lips.

What else could he do but drink? Elladan would not purposely frighten his twin, as surely he had done, and so he swallowed all the tonic readily enough. The warmth of it eased into his muscles and bones and he felt better at once, recognising that Miruvor had been added. He cocked a brow and gave his brother a wry smile.

"Ada would scold you, saying that is precious brew and not to be used lightly," he mused.

"He would deem this use appropriate," answered Elrohir softly, setting the mug aside. He passed his hand over his brother's brow, gazing on the face so like his own and yet so completely different. To one another, the idea of being identical was absurd; too much about them, the important things like thoughts and hearts and souls, was unique to ever feel they were merely reflections of one another. "Can you speak of it now?"

"Aye." He shifted and Elrohir helped him prop his shoulders against the softly upholstered arm of the sofa. Several minutes passed by in silence and with a brief sigh Elladan turned his head to gaze out at the lashing needles of grey rain pelting the muddy yard, curling his knees closer to his body, folding his arms over his wounded heart. Then he grimaced, over-burdened with the reality he must face, and let Elrohir gently draw him back to meet his gaze.

_~Speak; it is just me.~_

_~That is what makes it so hard.~_

Elrohir gave a muted cry to refute that and took up his brother's hand. "Try," he urged.

Elladan sighed again and offered a rueful smile. Did he not owe his twin an explanation? Aye, for making him worry so, for dragging him away from his beloved's side, for the divisive, antagonistic fight they'd had just six short months ago. Aye, he owed him that much.

"No," said Elrohir. "Not because you owe me. Tell me because I am your brother who loves you, who would find means to take this burden from you."

"I will try," he nodded, a surge of happiness flowing straight to his abused heart to hear this assurance. "I say to you now, ere I start, that as hard as it may be for you to listen to these things, it is a thousand times more difficult for me to say them." He paused again, scanning his brother's open countenance carefully and then he grimaced, looking aside once more. "It is a matter of the heart, Elrohir." To his surprise, his brother gave a soft snort of amused annoyance.

"I deduced as much, Muindor," he reassured, smiling when Elladan's conflicted grey depths once more met his. "I know; my words when last we talked of this were harsh. I realise how narrow my view was then. Echuil'laer has educated me well, for she was horrified to learn of our argument and its cause."

Elladan sat bolt upright, panic in every movement. "She knows? You told her?"

"Nay, Muindor, be at peace!" exhorted Elrohir, coming up on his knees and catching Elladan at the shoulders, gently easing him back down, concerned to see the thumping vein below his jaw. "She just knew, though I swear I said nothing. The day you left she stormed into my talan and blasted me in the most scathing and chastising terms. She called me things I never heard a Lady name! She would have me go after you, but I was stubborn and proud. Well, that much you know, and my obstinate disapproval drove you away."

"Mayhap I deserved your repudiation," Elladan shrugged, his cheeks colouring, the pink hue strange atop their sickly, sallow shade.

"Nay, Elladan, nay. I never meant anything like this to happen to you no matter how angry I was," insisted Elrohir. "I promise you will hear no more condemnations from me. I do not care who you desire. You are my brother and I accept you freely, gladly, and with great love." Impulsively he leaned forward and gathered Elladan close against his heart. "For all this is a terrible tragedy, you don't know how pleased I am to learn you've chosen to remain among elf-kind. I could not bear to be without you."

"Nor I without you," Elladan's words quavered under the weight of his emotion and he squeezed back, wrapping his arms tight around Elrohir as if he feared he might vanish. He let Elrohir settle him back into the cushiony stuffing and took a deep breath, yet it was some minutes more before he gathered mettle sufficient to begin the tale.

"I don't know what I expected to find here," he said, "but certainly not my soul-mate. Aye, you guessed rightly; my heart is given. Alas, it is also rejected, and therein lies the whole of it, so that even though you and I will never be parted by the gift of men, yet Aman may be the only place for me, and many long centuries could pass before we meet again, if grief defeats me."

"We will go together if it comes to that," insisted Elrohir with fervour, scanning his brother's eyes intently. "Echuil'laer will not object; she will follow me anywhere and I'd better say now that she is probably searching for me as we speak." The look of alarm on his brother's face made him elaborate. "Fear not, Nirmë's tracks she will seek and those will lead her to a place far distant from here. There is no one who knows where I have gone. It will be long weeks before she determines my real destination, if ever."

"I regret you were forced to such a course, deceiving her," frowned Elladan, "but rejoice that you have found such a constant mate." He smiled, but there was great pain in his expression and his body twitched upon uttering the simple phrase.

"Ai! I am a fool who can't keep his tongue in check," complained Elrohir, regretting his boast over his beloved's fidelity in light of the topic under discussion. "Forgive me."

"There is no need. You cannot forever refuse to speak of your heart's contentment just because I have not been as wise, or as fortunate," advised Elladan. "I will have to adjust to it, that's all. Since she loves you, she will find me much easier to befriend, I being the more charming between us."

"For once I must concede the truth," announced Elrohir. "Her family actually hoped that I was you, considering your grim and silent mien indicative of fearsome strength and courage. I fear Echuil'laer is but a pampered Lady who will want frilly, lacy things and jewels and babes. Her Adar wanted to know she would be well protected by her mate and considers me a poor second to you. So she has taken pains to inform me."

"Bah! I do not believe you. If you really think that, she has you well and truly fooled." Elladan let loose a hoarse bark of a laugh, smiling with genuine mirth for the first time in weeks, or months; he could not really recall.

Elrohir was encouraged to see it. "Perhaps I am a fool, then, as you have so often insisted. Come now, your story. The telling of it will ease your heart, though it seems the opposite must be true. Share your sorrow with me and it will be alleviated. Whatever must be done to mend you, we will manage it, Elladan. Speak of this elf you love."

Elladan held his gaze, determined to be sure of unqualified support before he spoke a single word, and found Elrohir's heart and soul open and eager to offer both shelter and love unconditionally. He gave a short, definitive nod and began:

"He was elegant and sophisticated, cordial and charming, comely of face and form and utterly enchanting. I could only stare and stare, for this was such a different personality than I'd encountered by chance on the beach just the previous night. He stood so tall and proud, his long lean frame straight and his posture evocative of sincerity and self-confidence; I was astonished. He was dressed formally in rich clothes, the tunic of midnight blue trimmed in small white gems about the hem, a broad sash of creamy yellow silk holding it shut at his hips, allowing the garment to gape just enough to permit an enticing glimpse of the bare, svelte torso beneath it. It was a daring, even shocking, style and I found it difficult to keep my eyes from drifting to that tantalising peek of naked skin.

"His lower half was clothed in soft leggings of pale, icy blue though the cloth was only visible as a thin band above the long, thigh-high black leather boots that hugged the curves of his calves. He wore his hair loose and the ebony strands cascaded about his shoulders and down his back, glossy and thick, adorned about the crown with small ornaments of mithril that gave an impression of a princely circlet without the ostentation a true coronet would present. The weighty tresses slid forward when he bowed and with a casual sweep of his hand he made them resume their proper place as he rose. His greeting was courteous and formal yet somehow imbued with an anxious and hopeful anticipation that was endearing.

"And while this was the second time I'd seen him, in many ways it was the first for before it had been so dark that I could not make him out clearly, nor had he remained long enough to allow a more thorough inspection." Elladan explained, his sight upon the remembered image as he relived the experience, a slight smile hovering over his dolorous features.

"He certainly made an impression on you," remarked Elrohir, watching his brother's dreamy inward gaze. His words brought Elladan back and he glanced up, eyes bright with a shy smile the likes of which he'd never worn on his features before.

"Aye, but I was not ready to admit it then. My whole purpose in meeting him again was to defy the doom called down upon me by Ossë."

"Ossë!" Elrohir could not have been more surprised had his brother just announced an encounter with Tulkas. "When did you meet him?"

"When I was with Hîr Círdan," answered Elladan. "The two are in league together and I cannot forgive either one, not if all the Valar insist upon it. Such cruelty, calculated, cold, and unrepentant, I have never witnessed before," he spat, twisting on the sofa as if the very thought of it was painful, which it surely was.

"Nae! This is far more involved than I imagined," said Elrohir. "It would be best if your began at the start, from the time you rode from Imladris."

"So be it," nodded Elladan, and relaxed again as he began his story anew.

  


### [ ~ Next ~ ](barad2.html)

  


_**Disclaimer: Main characters and settings originally created by JRR Tolkien. Just for fun, no money earned. OC's and story are erobey's.** _

  



	2. Part Two: Nenuial

### ~ Part Two: Nenuial ~

The land tumbled down into the basin of the lake, ancient mountains weathered and eroded into soft hills, a thick cloak of soil and living green hiding their stony hearts. Once long ago before even the elves awakened perhaps they were high, pointed peaks set here by some whim of the Valar, but what remained was this cluster of nubby mounds encircling the pristine font. It was lovely and dreamy but not spectacular or magical, not like Cenedril Rim (Mirror Mere) cloistered at the feet of Caradras. He had his reasons for preferring this little pool to all others, yet today the place evoked nothing of the serene and peaceful joy he had hoped to feel. Instead, it looked as common and humble as Ael Annan (Long Lake), the mighty city ringed about it as coarse and tawdry as Esgaroth's huts and crude houses.

Elladan frowned at the white walls of fair Annúminas, Tower of the West, the Seat of the Dúnedain in the northern reaches of Eriador, tracing its turrets and its towers with critical eyes that scorned the best these faint echoes of Elros could accomplish. Flags flapped and fluttered in the wind, tilled fields skirted the lake's perimeter, herds of cattle milled in the meadows, humans scurried with appropriate and predictable bustle and bother about the streets, Arantar sat in his court and ruled. The elves had moved on and men were here now, and while Elladan's heritage included mortal blood, today he found the Lesser Children of Iluvatar more blight than blessing. The tableau irritated him; the everyday urgency of human frailty somehow stung his heart. He turned from the city to survey the valley in which it was cradled.

Desiring to know the land as it must have once been, he sought to erase the imposing structures of mortar and stone, the farms and their fields, the people and their crude stab at civilisation and gentility. Surely it must have been special, a uniquely uplifting vista exuding a strong note of welcoming peace, else why would Galadriel choose it? Here his mother had been born and reared, and desperately Elladan tried to see it all as her elfling eyes had done, to experience what it must have been like to play at the water's sandy edges and run amid the lush grasses and wild flowers. The illusion would not come. A soft sigh left him and his arms folded up across his chest.

_~So, then I will see it for what it is, removed from my history entirely.~_

For the first time he noticed that the depression resembled the imprint of a thumb, as if Iluvatar had come and pressed his finger down deep into the skin of the earth and left the resulting bowl to slowly fill with rain and runoff. Yet, it could as easily have been Melkor's evil mind at work instead. The toe of the Betrayer stubbing out something beautiful made by Yavanna, smashing it cruelly into the bowels of Arda just to spite Aulë. There were no legends concerning its creation, no stories that identified this as the scene of some pivotal battle in the wars between the Ainur. It simply existed. Whether scarred by violent revolt or dimpled by the touch of Eru, the land cupped the lake, jealously guarding it in quiet seclusion, resenting even the trickle that flowed away with the Baranduin into the broad plains of Eriador.

Despite its beauty and abundant resources, elves had not settled here in the Elder Days; at least, not those of the Sindarin folk, not those who kept records. Who could say if wayward Avarin tribes had ever roamed these gentle swells of earth and grass? Who would care? But for a brief span of years when Celeborn and Galadriel had made this place their home, the lake's history belonged to the Second-born of Iluvatar, to men, and thus its relevance was now equally young and just as ephemeral. Surely, though, the High Elves knew of it and named it Nenuial, the Twilight Water. And men? They just called is Evendim.

It was not Cuiviénen, but to the Children of the Elder Days Nenuial was perhaps its distant sister: the first marking the beginning of life itself, the second pointing the way to a new beginning. After the long traverse of the Great Journey took them through countless valleys, across rivers, hills, and mountains, the host of the Vanyar arrived and stood here upon this ring of mounded earth and stone, even as he stood now, staring down upon the shining water at dusk, a thousand stars reflected in its smooth, still surface. What other name could they bestow upon it? Even so, it seemed an uninspired designation, just a means to mark the place for those lagging behind the van, a conspicuous geographic feature for which to aim as feet grew weary and hearts grew sore with fatigue.

He could hear the messengers exhorting the straggling Teleri people: 'Just there beyond the low and rolling hills is Nenuial. Hasten hence; rest beside the twilit waters and be refreshed. The Blessed Land is nigh.' Would that be enough to bolster their resolve and prevent them from turning back, from rejoining the kin left behind in the wild forests of Nan Anduin? It must have been, for Thingol made it over Ered Lhuin before a diversion of an entirely different sort stalled his progress for ever-more, and never went Elu back to Aman again in life.

_~What withering misfortunes are wrought upon us by the curse of love.~_

Elladan thought, and then he remembered: there was no one here who could receive that thought.

"Nenuial, Hîren," spoke the elf beside him, his tone forced and grating, mimicking the uneasy mood that had haunted the journey from its first moments, a spectre that mocked and sneered and pointed at the small group's leader with malicious glee. 'See?' it laughed. 'He is lost, bereft, frightened. Alone, he is nothing.' There could be no denying this spirit was the palpable misery of Elladan's dejected soul.

Elladan glared, eyes cutting sharply as a stinging rebuke rose in his throat, for of course it was Nenuial. Was he a green recruit on his first journey away from the Vale of the Bruinen? Before it passed his lips he swallowed it down, granting the advisor a curt nod instead and a swift motion of the hand to indicate they could go down.

"The horses are glad for the rest," continued his companion, casting a sidelong look in Elladan's direction. As before, no reply was given to Enerdhil's simple comment and a short sigh left his nostrils. The trip had been arduous despite the lack of enemies to fight or hardship to shoulder. Ever known to be the least outgoing of the twins, Elladan had become sullen and silent of late, the absence of his voice more stentorian than the brusque barks of irritated malaise he used when need forced him to speak. "As am I," Enerdhil added and, because he was disturbed by his Lord's foul mood, continued. "No doubt Arantar will be pleased to greet you again, Hîren. How many years has it been since you visited the King's city?"

"I frequently ride to Annúminas," snapped Elladan, coming to a halt and turning on Enerdhil, knowing this was but a means to draw him out yet unable to rise above his black despondency. "Elrohir and I lend aid to his Rangers when needed."

"Yes, but that is work and hard work at that," smiled Enerdhil, encouraged by any reply of more than one word. "Your efforts will no doubt be rewarded with magnanimous splendour by King Arantar, now that he has the opportunity to host you as his honoured guest."

"No doubt. We will probably be subjected to a feast." Elladan ground out his response as if the words were coated with foetid bile.

'Feast' was the twin brothers' code word for the standard practice among the Dunedain (and not beneath the manners of elves, either) of presenting an eligible maiden, some niece or cousin or daughter of the King, for their approval and possible union. The twins had come of Age over two centuries ago and remained unattached, thus their long deceased uncle's distant progeny did not hesitate to broach the idea of marriage whenever the two visited Arnor. They had become adept in obstructing these felicitous but unwanted attentions, confusing the poor ladies by alternately pretending to be one another and switching personalities as swiftly as they downed their wine. The damsels invariably gave up before the night was half done, preferring the company of men who were not appalled to escort them to the dance floor. Elladan realised as soon as he said it that Enerdhil did not know the code.

"What say you, a feast? That sounds absolutely abominable! What prompts the King to such woeful lack of consideration for his kin?" he said, gazing covertly at Elladan's stiff, straight frame moving ahead along the path.

His not so innocent sarcasm earned him a scathing, searing glare more worthy of the sons of Feänor than the sons of Elrond, but at least no biting retort accompanied the stare. Enerdhil exhaled a lungful he didn't remember retaining as the gloomy twin resumed the march, glancing to the warriors to share his exasperated relief. The looks answering warned him to stop now before they were all ordered to lodge in the stables rather than the sumptuous quarters King Arantar customarily made available to his elven relatives and whatever retinue they had in tow.

When they had crossed half the distance to the gracious city, the elves spied a grand party of armoured soldiers galloping up the hill to meet them, standards of both Arnor and Imladris waving impressively in the wind. Elladan called a halt and waited for them, watching as they drew to a stop with fitting military precision and the captain of this elite guard dismounted. He made a stiff bow and raised his visor, teeth gleaming as he grinned beneath his thick, dark moustaches. Elladan had to smile in return for it was Arantar himself.

"Mae-govannen, muindor iaur (older brother), " the King enthused, laughing lightly and circling the tall elf who had spent many hours with him both on the practice fields and in battle defending the borders of Arnor. Like all the princes of the North Kingdom, Arantar had fostered at Imladris through his youth. "Why are you afoot? Have your wearied your horses in your haste to arrive at my halls? You must have heard the rumours." In truth, he wasn't surprised to find the elves dismounted, their horses trailing along behind them, leisurely nibbling the grass as they went.

"What rumours, muindor laes (baby brother)?" This was standard stuff from Arantar and Elladan played along, though the expected rejoinder was anything but amusing to him.

"The fair Lady Cordoff has consented to spend the season at Annúminas. She is eager to meet you again," explained Arantar.

"Is she the one with yellow hair who boasts of elven blood far back in her ancestry? Avarin ties are not necessarily something to put forward as an asset. I suppose I must dance with her at the feast?"

"Well, no one will force you, muindor iaur," Arantar chuckled and fell into step alongside Elladan, who marched on around the mounted soldiers and down the trail. The King removed his helm and shook out his hair, still a rich chestnut brown but sporting a distinctive streak of grey here and there. Nearly as tall as Elladan and not in the least intimidated by his presence, Arantar cast a shrewd eye over his foster-brother, judging his temper vile and harbouring no misunderstanding as to the cause. "She makes no claims but her Adar insists his great-great-great-great grandfather was a Sindarin warrior."

"Probably some deserter from Denethor's forces fleeing home after the First Battle," jibed Elladan. "I hardly want to court such a person seriously."

"Then you _are_ hoping to court someone?" Arantar inquired directly and went straight to the heart of the matter. "I know of the happy news from Imladris. Elrohir has chosen a fine mate in Echuil'laer (Spring Poem) of Lothlorien. Though I have not met her, I was honoured to be introduced to her brother, Erchiel, a noble warrior who volunteered his aid to me when it was sorely needed."

"Aye, I have not lost my faculty of memory, Arantar. I was there, too," growled Elladan. The event in question had occurred some eighty years past when Arantar was newly crowned; a chance encounter that in retrospect now seemed the crucial moment when Elrohir's future resolved from hazy obscurity to cold, hard, inescapable reality. Had they not encountered Erchiel, mayhap they would not have met Echuil'laer and Elrohir would not have lost his heart to her. Elladan's scowl deepened just considering the notion.

"Your twin has chosen his fate upon sealing this betrothal, of course, yet yours is still before you."

The King's words invaded Elladan's internal, rambling rant and he stiffened, stopping dead on the path, icy fury infusing his clear grey eyes as they flashed upon Arantar. "My choice was decided for me as soon as he made his. Never would I abandon Elrohir." _~As he has abandoned me.~_

"Ah. I see. You will remain among the elves." Arantar was visibly disappointed. Long had his people desired to gain another of Elros' lineage to rejuvenate the fading strength of the kings. With Numenor fallen and the people of Elendil divided between Gondor and Arnor, the glory of men looked to be waning.

"Yes."

Behind him, the warriors of Imladris shifted about and shared their surprise in quiet glances of upraised brows and wide eyes, for this was news to them, and while they were happy for it they had not expected their Lord's admission to be so filled with bitterness. Elladan was already underway again, leaving no time for anyone to comment about his revelation. His feet struck the ground as if he wanted to punish it for being there to witness his abrupt announcement of such an important decision, something he hadn't even shared with his parents. _~or with Elrohir.~_

Arantar glanced at the small contingent of elves, mutely questioning Enerdhil, but received only a bewildered shrug for answer. The King of Arnor hurried to catch up with his distant cousin, waving his captain to bring his stallion as striding along in full armour was neither to his liking nor his comfort. He mounted and the elegant war horse minced daintily alongside the silently fuming elf.

"I will ride ahead and make ready the city for your arrival, muindor iaur," he said simply and nudged his horse for speed. He cantered away with his soldiers around him, banners whipping and snapping as the rumble of hooves faded with their diminishing presence.

  
Annúminas displayed all the grandeur and pomp appropriate for the capitol of the most powerful realm of men in the North lands. The connection to Imladris was long-standing and well-honoured, the welcome accorded Elrond's son fitting in its refinement and cordiality. The citizens, from Lords and their Ladies down to humble peasants of the fields, lined the road and bowed low before the small troop of elves marching to the high-walled citadel beside the cool, clear lake. The First-born were not a novelty here yet even so many gazed in awe at the Noldorin warriors moving through their town.

Oblivious to all their guest's fey humour, the people of Annúminas wished to exhibit that deference, that sense of obligation and unity they felt for the elves of Imladris. Arantar's subjects were Elf-friends, the Faithful Ones, and if the Dúnedain were waning now still they could look back with pride and remember when their might had salvaged these very lands and spared the lives of many elves who called Imladris home. Their King shared the lineage of the prince gracing their streets today and the citizens could not help but hope to impress Elrond's son. The festivities that commenced were modest, clearly pared down from their original scale, but sumptuous: a carnival in the streets for the commoners and a ball in the palace to which the nobles of the King's court were invited. The music was sweet, the wine sweeter, and the fellowship warm and genuine.

All of it was lost on Elladan: the finery, the fawning, the subliminal dread he inspired. He sat in grim forbearance in the seat of honour beside the King, aloof and forbidding, filling his monosyllabic responses with curt condescension whenever some unwary guest made the mistake of attempting to engage him in conversation. He did not dance or sing; he ignored the fair Lady Cordoff and every other maid in attendance; he glowered at empty spaces in the air and acknowledged pleasantries and polite greetings with minimal, disdainful glances. He shut them out, unaccountably angry over the generous welcome, wanting no part of this secondary, inferior kinship when the one he should be closest to in all of creation would turn from him.

King Arantar excused him at the earliest possible moment, following shortly after to chastise the elven prince for such surly and rude behaviour, forestalling Enerdhil's efforts to do the same.

"It isn't like you," he said calmly, real concern edging the words. "Has Elrohir's good fortune found so little favour with you?" It was exactly the wrong thing to suggest, no matter how right his insight proved to be.

"I have never begrudged my brother anything," spat Elladan, looming up nose to nose with Arantar, hands tight with fisted menace at his side. "For you to say it shows how little you value my friendship."

"It is from friendship's necessity that I speak," rejoined Arantar, holding his ground and meeting the unsettlingly tormented elven eyes squarely. "What have you against the Lady?"

"Nothing!" thundered Elladan, turning sharply aside, pacing away to the fireplace, finding it easier to face the glowing flames than his cousin. "She is perfect; have you not heard? All Imladris lauds her; Adar and Naneth cannot stop smiling. I have listened to Elrohir singing of her beauty, her intelligence, her strong character, her gentle heart until I am sick with the very sound of her name! Speak of her again and we will part in conflict, Arantar."

It was not an idle threat and Arantar knew Elladan well enough to appreciate that. He sighed, understanding what was wrong; the twin brothers had been inseparable in all the years he had known them. Now Elrohir was in love, a love fully requited, by all accounts ecstatic and mesmerised by his new-found joy, and walked a good half-metre above the earth's surface these days. He would establish a bond with Echuil'aer more potent than the one he shared with Elladan. That left little time and less thought to spare for his twin. While Arantar was not surprised by Elladan's jealousy, he was stunned by its depth and the real pain that lay beneath it. Elrohir was not in Mandos, after all, nor lost to his brother through the Gift of Men.

"I will not bring discord between us, muindor iaur," Arantar said, approaching and clapping a hand upon the tense shoulder, squeezing in support and sympathy together.

What more could he do? If he expressed genuine commiseration for Elladan, that would be perceived as pity and his muindor iaur might really disown him. He would become just another distant, removed cousin rather than a true brother. While none could usurp Elrohir's place in Elladan's life, Arantar liked being his 'muindor laes', not quite equal but loved and respected all the same. They were friends and the King's heart went out to him, saddened to see this rift forming between the sons of Elrond, inevitable though the separation was. Perhaps Enerdhil would succeed where he had failed.

Arantar offered a tight smile that never reached his eyes. "Stay for a time," he coaxed. "It would please me well to spar against you again. My counsellors will not permit me to do anything dangerous and I am growing old and soft. Tarcil would like it, too."

"I doubt that; your eldest has become such an arrogant sort I hardly know him. You should send him off to live among the Rangers, that would cure him of his haughty manners," smiled Elladan, relaxing and returning the friendly gesture with relief.

"Oh, I already did that. Lad came back more foul-mouthed and insolent than ever."

Now, this complaint about Arnor's prince and heir was a running joke shared between them spawned by an incident in the boy's adolescent years. Now Tarcil was a man with a child of his own and the King was long past his prime. Sadness gripped Elladan's heart and his expression gentled. It was difficult to see them come and go so quickly when he cared so much. Had he not grown up alongside Arantar's father? Yet already Eldacar was one hundred years dead and for his sake Elladan had learned to love his son, even as now he must find means to befriend Tarcil in turn. He suppressed a grimace, wondering how his Adar managed it, especially having watched as his brother aged and perished.

"Muindor, old mayhap you will someday be, but not yet," he added, hoping the lie was not challenged. Arantar's serious blue eyes filled with wry and kindly dissent and Elladan swiftly broke from them and turned. "Nay, I cannot abide here for I am expected in Mithlond. Erestor has gone suddenly to the wilds of Rhovanion to meet with the elven King of Greenwood. Adar would not say what initiated that drastic step, but it must be something dire as we have not heard from the Wood Elves since the Last Alliance. At any rate, I was chosen to be Erestor's replacement at Hîr Círdan's council."

"So what will you be doing there; drafting the next report on emigration to Valinor?" Arantar let loose a hearty laugh and slapped Elladan hard on the back. "Not exactly your preferred occupation. Oh, I do not envy you this task! One thing is certain, you will be greatly appreciative of Lord Erestor upon your return from Lord Círdan's court."

"Hmm, perhaps. Your sympathetic, brotherly camaraderie is quite touching, muindor laes," growled Elladan, but he was grinning now. "It can't really be that bad. Besides, I've spent time with Círdan before."

"Not like this you haven't," warned Arantar, "not as a delegate to his council. You will be under the old tyrant's thumb this time. The year I fostered there was utterly abysmal. The only saving grace was the sea. I urge you to get out from the city and sail, for only thus will you escape the tiresome bickering of the Haven's counsellors and the perpetual disfavour of Círdan's baleful green glare."

"I have noted that Erestor takes a ten-day off duty after this conference's completion, retreating to Lothlorien to recuperate," Elladan remarked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Mayhap I should remain here and send Enerdhil ahead. Let him bear the brunt of this tedious task; I will arrive in due time and settle the squabbling, thus earning Círdan's respect and gratitude."

"What dreams you spin!" laughed Arantar, shaking his head. "There's no getting out of it, Elladan. If he expects you and someone else arrives, he'll simply send his warriors here to collect you. They will brook no resistance and carry you back to their Lord by force if necessary."

"Nae! You make them sound barbaric. They are Telerin elves, mostly Faladhrim and Sindarin people with a few Noldorin folk as well; such is beneath them. If they failed to take you to their hearts, it was probably due to your uncouth manners."

"They are a strange lot," Arantar said cryptically and then moved the conversation to the main point. There were words he would say that Elladan had no desire to hear from anyone, much less his human foster-brother, but the King was no coward. "They will not be sympathetic to your plight. You will be expected to deport yourself as Elrond's representative and the other delegates will be eager to test your resolve. Your father's reputation casts a weighty shadow, Elladan; do not let your brother's absence make it even heavier."

"You think I'm not up to it," Elladan was genuinely shocked and had no words to counter his friend, doubt clouding his view of himself. Many were the obligations imposed by his father, all of which he accomplished to Elrond's satisfaction, but this was the first time he'd undertaken any duty or task without Elrohir beside him.

"No, I have faith in your skill and Erestor's training, having benefited from it myself. You must focus on the matters before you and leave Elrohir where he is, in Imladris with his betrothed."

Elladan reflected a moment, gazing at Arantar with renewed respect and appreciation. He'd just been told to stop acting like a pouting child in terms that left his dignity intact. "You are a worthy friend, Arantar, and a great diplomat. Mayhap _you_ should go down to Mithlond and let me linger beside Nenuial, ruling in your stead."

"Oh, you'd like that. Nay, I am done being referred to as 'henechil' (human boy). I am a King, after all, and while I have respect for my elders, especially one who is such a staunch ally, there is not sufficient deference in me to win Círdan's approval. I will stay here where I am loved and honoured," Arantar grimaced around the words. "Yet write to me, if you will, and I will answer. I am eager to know your thoughts on the sea, especially if you take to sailing, and while I am not Elrohir, I am still your muindor laes."

  
Poised with his troops upon the western rim of Emmyn Uial, Elladan smiled as the conversation replayed, peering westward upon a hazy horizon that melted into a grey and shimmering sea.

_~Mayhap I will sail upon it this time.~_

He had not been to Lindon since his elfling days when, at the age of thirty-five summers, he and Elrohir had gone to fulfil the required five years' internship in Círdan's court. The sea had not captivated either of the twins then; neither one had taken to sailing its choppy surface. What the Faladhrim found so beguiling they couldn't fathom and had shared amusement over the Telerin obsession with fishing from the foaming shore, distaste over the strong scent of salt and decay redolent in the wind, curiosity over the little boats darting though the waves, and titillation over the naked bodies frolicking in the saline water.That had been enough inducement to make them try it, yet the powerful currents and pounding surf made it impossible to progress to anything more amorous than swimming, diving, and surf-riding. The twins' purity had not been sullied in Mithlond despite their efforts to explore the possibilities their maturing bodies recognised.

One important difference had been uncovered then: Elrohir was attracted to the soft curves of the female form while Elladan could discover no beauty that was not male. It had been a surprise, each stunned to learn the other's preference was unique and distinct from his own. It was the first time they couldn't share their innermost thoughts, for Elladan's desire, invading Elrohir's mind, cancelled his brother's lust instantly, and vice-versa. They found a way to barricade these urges from one another and thus achieved for the first time independence in thought.

_~If fantasising and self-indulgence can be said to incorporate thought.~_

Still, they were but on the cusp of adolescence and other pursuits diverted them from carnal curiosity most of the time. The Grey Havens was an amazingly colourful place filled with exotic foods and strange customs, offering a cross-section of elven societies prevalent at the time. Together the sons of Elrond had explored the walled city, roamed the marshes and the salt flats, scampered over the plains of Forlond and hiked the foothills of Ered Lhuin.They pretended Lindon was Sirion and fought against the cruelty of the last kinslaying, sometimes wandering far north along the shore to gaze on Himling, Maedhros' fortress of old before the War of Wrath. Then it was called Himring, a flat-topped mesa in the tailing spur of the Blue Mountains and the castle he had built there still stood in ruins upon the stranded island.

Often they debated: had their father and uncle ever lived there? The sons of Feänor were not a topic Elrond would discuss willingly and his sons had learned early not to bring their questions to him. Their mother was only a little more forthcoming, having no good words to say of the murderers who had held her husband and his brother hostage in their youth. Erestor offered them more, encouraging the elflings to study all aspects of the Feänorian Oath and its effects upon the fiery Noldo's seven sons.

Yet Mithlond had been their father's home, that was fact, and Nowë Círdan, unwed and unattached, had taken responsibility for raising the twin sons of Eärendil more than any other. Elrond harboured great respect for the ancient elf and this same regard he tried to instil into his sons' characters. Elladan had strongly rebelled against it; Elrohir had complied willingly. Fostering in Lindon, this had been immediately obvious to the First-age Elder and the two were quickly divided in Círdan's favour. Elrohir enjoyed his stern approval, which took the form of regular and public correction of errors in virtually every thought, word, and deed. Elladan earned invisibility and was grateful for it.

_~What manner of welcome awaits me now?~_

He scanned the dusky green ocean, its surface mottled and dappled with the golden glint of Anor. His sight travelled inland through the deep cleft of the gulf of Lhûn into the narrow neck of land where the Havens straddled the brackish flow of the river on either bank. A bright spark of fleeting golden radiance glinted through the early morning air; the twinkle and shimmer of sunlight winking through the facets of the famed crystal tower, Elostirion. Surrounding the heights of Emmyn Baraid sprawled the city of Mithlond, its growth having exceeded the limits of the walls long ago. Every year, it seemed, the population of elves shrank in other realms only to swell here with folk hoping to leave for Aman, waiting for their ship to be built. It occurred to him that he might meet some he knew and many who would surely know of him.

"The spires of Lindon, Hîren," Enerdhil announced the obvious, smiling benignly when Elladan turned harried eyes upon him.

Without a word, he nudged his horse into motion and led the way down the defile to the flatlands. He took the road unseen by any save elven folk, following the banks of Lhûn Sîr, and passed amid the outlying fields and clustered homesteads. The people looked upon him and greeted him warmly but he did not stop to chat, turning aside all who would share his company. The group lodged in a simple inn and Elladan retired to his room at once, isolating himself again from everyone, fellows, friends, and foreigners alike, caring not what Enerdhil and the others might choose to do. The next day brought them to the gates of Nowë Círdan's city of refuge.


	3. Part Three: Cirdan

### ~ Part Three: Círdan ~

Elladan was not accustomed to waiting and did not bear it with good humour. Many elves had arrived after him yet gone in ahead, while many more had arrived earlier and still waited without, peering at him and Enerdhil as they took seats. Some were obviously noble and high-born, others but simple folk clad in the humble garb of sailors, their long locks bound tightly about their heads like coils of rope. Of those granted immediate entry to the Lord's office, there seemed an even mix of all stations, races, ranks, and livelihoods, so that Elladan could not complain that he was being shunned in favour of local nobles or Telerin elves. He did so very much want to have reason to complain and demand audience with Círdan, and thus deprived was far more irritated by his enforced patience. He could do nothing but observe the people coming and going, sighing in ill-disguised disgust every time someone else was admitted to the inner sanctum, shooting openly reproving glances at the elf monitoring the traffic through the great Lord's lobby.

One and all entered through the immense doorway of the palace, for he could call it nothing less, the shape of the portal unlike anything Elladan had observed elsewhere, being a circular arch that looked to be cast of pure gold, beautifully engraved with creatures of the sea and praises for Ulmo. One and all approached the ornate and massive desk of teak situated upon a raised dais before the only window in the antechamber. It was likewise grandly formed with six turned legs about which a relief of dolphins swam, spiralling up from bottom to top in single file, noses to tails, until the heads of the first in line formed the support for the expansive surface of the table. Behind it sat the scribe, a rigidly unapproachable elf surely almost as ancient as the great lord himself, to whom the visitors quietly spoke their names.

Once his attention could be aroused, the secretary presented a grim, expressionless face with eyes so dark they looked like black obsidian, the pupils lost in the irises. This raised in Elladan the peculiar notion that the elf was blind, yet the scribe's gaze flickered in open evaluation over every guest and scrutinised the young Lord of Imladris with evident recognition.

This door-warden, for he could be nothing else no matter that his weapons were his quill and daunting demeanour rather than a sword and shield, never gave any indication of being impressed by this or that title, this or that grave situation, this or that over-weening cordiality, and failed to offer any words of welcome whatsoever. He duly noted each person's arrival, recording the name and time in a huge ledger open before him. A flick of his hand would shoo any hesitantly hopeful lingerers hovering about his domain toward the seats. Elladan and Enerdhil had been such, the Imladrians believing they were expected and would be accorded immediate access to Lindon's aged ruler. Such was not the case, though they were certainly expected.

One and all the elves sat along the simply constructed maplewood benches that faced one another along opposite walls, taking places either beside or across from Elladan and Enerdhil. The latter politely greeted new-comers, inquiring of their names and purposes in coming to see the Lord of Mithlond, and chatted amiably with old friends but did not introduce Elladan. Among those the advisor did not know, the more esteemed folk glanced with haughty disdain at Enerdhil's attempts at pleasant conversation, ignoring Elladan completely, some answering curtly and others never deigning to reply at all. The lower ranks of the Faladhrim were eager to speak and shared much, asking their questions in turn, eyeing the Lord from Imladris with curiosity and perhaps amusement; Elladan was confused as to why. They appeared to share little jokes at his expense, merry eyes taking him in followed by hushed words spoken in a dialect of Sindarin Elladan had never heard before and which Enerdhil was equally unable to translate.

From time to time the door to the office would open, an elf or contingent of elves would emerge, and the inscrutable scribe would announce the name of the next person fortunate enough to be permitted to meet with Círdan. On leaving, these elves passed Elladan again and those who had arrived later than he gazed with eyes both speculative and faintly mocking. _~or piteous.~_ That thought made Elladan's blood surge with anger and he had to stand and pace once more to the ornate entrance, there to peer through it to the vista of wet, brown sand and tidal pools stretching out from the skirts of the promontory of the palace to the far horizon.

The sight soothed him. It was dannen (low-tide) and shore birds skimmed along inches above the gullies or darted over the exposed, rippled sea bottom, picking at stranded echinoderms, crustaceans, and gastropods. In the distance reclined a raised and golden bar; beyond it the ocean curled atop itself in soft white ridges of froth and Anor flashed on the fins of tess-vi-dol romping in the surf. He caught the bulging curve of a single sail and could almost hear peals of laughter wafting from the tiny craft as it leaped across the crested waves.

"Hîr Elladan of Imladris," the icy voice of the bloodless secretary stated.

Elladan turned to find that unsettling gaze upon him and gave a brief nod, motioning for Enerdhil to attend him as he moved toward the office.

"Hîr Elladan of Imladris and _only_ Hîr Elladan of Imladris," the scribe intoned with arrogant censure and several of the sailors snickered and gaped in grinning glee at Enerdhil, as though he was in on the joke.

Elladan scowled and stormed through the door, sending it to shut with a crashing bang that shook the glass in the windows. Even he winced at the noise and regretted his temper at once, for there was Hîr Círdan halted in the middle of the room, obviously having been on his way to greet his old ward's son as family. Now a deep, disapproving furrow marred his high brow and his long silver beard worked as though he might be grinding his teeth in frustration.

"Suilad, Elrondion, come in and do be sure to close the door behind you," he said, the words squeezed with effort past his clenched jaws. He turned away and stalked back to the desk from which he had risen, taking his seat without another glance at Elladan.

He hadn't changed a bit since the last time Elladan had stood before him in this very room. Despite his great age and reputed wisdom, Círdan looked just as formidable and contentious as he remembered. On first sight, the silver beard, lengthy as any sported by the Anfangrim, was bizarre and looked out of place on his comely face, lined though it was and crowned with straight, pewter tresses that must once have been golden. In fact, the creases only enhanced the unsettling impression of human frailty juxtaposed on elven vitality. The impression was false for there was no denying that vigour; it was evident in his unbent frame and confident step and one glance into the clear emerald eyes instantly affirmed the agility of the mind behind them. Just seconds in his presence erased any sense of discomfort over his appearance and it became immured with his status as an elf in Andrann Nail (the Third Cycle of Being).

Círdan grimaced as he peered again at Elladan, torn as to how to progress, a situation he disliked and to which he was unaccustomed. He was used to being in control, of knowing exactly what the best course of action was and ordering events to make it so. He could not deny the redolent scent of fate wafting through the scene, but this did not make his part in it any more pleasant or remove his uncertainty as to the proper stand to adopt. From a stack of papers and documents he lifted a short scroll with a broken seal, easily recognisable as Elrond's crest, and perused the letter while he waited for his visitor to make the last few steps to the chair placed for supplicants' use.

"Erestor called away to some obscure, unnamed emergency in Greenwood?" he queried rhetorically. "Ah well, I am grateful for your presence. It would not do to have Imladris absent from the discussions."

"Truly, Hîren, I am honoured to be named his substitute," said Elladan, eyeing the document in Círdan's long-fingered hand with trepidation. He had no desire to discuss what was written there. He raised his gaze to the ancient Lord's and found Círdan regarding him with those keen green eyes, comprehension clear within them. Elladan felt his face grow hot but he refused to look away. _~Let him think what he likes, but I'll give him nothing.~_

"You are at a disadvantage due to your lack of familiarity with the problems specific to this realm, but Enerdhil has been Erestor's aid for many centuries and has attended each of these conferences with him. Permit that worthy ellon to guide you and your input will be worthwhile and a credit to your sire."

"Aye, Hîren, he has been instructing me during the journey."

"That is well, but his words are not enough to make you understand. I expect you to conduct your own study of the problems. You will need to go among the people of the various sectors: Harlond, Forlond, Emmyn Baraid, and Mithlond itself. Speak with the people, listen to their words."

"As you wish, Hîren."

"There are but three days before the council convenes, Elladan, so I expect you will be quite busy. I hope you are not disappointed that this is a working visit.There will be little opportunity for socialising or exploring the coast."

"I came prepared to do whatever is required of me to successfully represent Imladris at this conference," Elladan said, "assuming my leisure-time to be my own to direct. If you have other duties you would assign to me, then of course I am at your disposal."

"You will learn," smiled Círdan, "that 'leisure-time' is a non-existent commodity during such a council as this. Any time not spent in the actual talks will inevitably be used to renew and strengthen ties with the other delegates or to meet with the people of Lindon most affected by the results of the council."

"I see."

"I doubt it," Círdan set the paper down and sat back, his eyes narrowing as his hands combed through the long, mist-coloured whiskers flowing from his chin. "Let me say what I must, for pretence is not to my liking," he suddenly said and noted that his firm tone made Elladan straighten in the chair, a barely suppressed desire to squirm if ever he saw one. "I do not want you here." The young elf's eyes went wide and his lips parted but Círdan forestalled the demand for explanation with a single raised finger. "Not for the reasons you might think. I understand why you were sent and I sympathise, truly, but this council is not inconsequential. For Imladris to send an untried diplomat who is at heart a warrior gives the impression that Elrond does not consider the problems here worthy of his interest."

"I assure you that is not the case," insisted Elladan. "Whatever personal concerns that letter reveals, Adaren would not send me if he did not believe me competent to represent him."

"This letter?" Círdan lifted the unfurled scroll. "This is not from your father, Elladan. Elrond's remarks were of course solely confined to the political considerations of sending a different participant, and his personal thanks and indebtedness to me for permitting you to be that delegate." He rummaged for a second paper as he spoke and held it aloft. "He speaks well of you and his confidence is not misplaced; I have no argument with this. The other missive tells of other news and I extend to you my happiness for the recent betrothal of Elrohir to Hiril Echuil'laer."

The two stared at one another in tense concentration as seconds dragged by, Elladan stricken with both anger and humiliation, finding Círdan's eyes bright with what he interpreted as an almost sadistic glee to have touched so sore a nerve. He raced through a quick list of who would have been bold enough to send a second letter after his father's and knew only one person who would act with such temerity. Elladan wasn't sure if could forgive his naneth for exposing his conflict with Elrohir to this arrogant, overbearing, disdainful Lord of the Teleri, unable to fathom what could possibly move her to do such a thing. How could she not know what a terrible disadvantage in which this would place him?

"What this writer, a friend to you let me stress that, understands is that this place is not necessarily the best one in which to work through the type of quandary you face now. Mithlond is indeed a haven for many, but for some it is a hellacious torment." That his words shocked Elladan was evident and he smiled grimly. "Strange as it might seem to you, I would spare you such an ordeal, as would your un-named ally. This letter is a request to protect you in as much as your presence here could not be prevented despite the writer's efforts to do so. There is only so much I can do, especially since you are by nature rebellious and any restrictions I might attempt to place upon your liberty would be stridently disregarded."

"I beg your pardon!" Elladan rose to his feet, disbelieving indignation painted over his distraught features. This was beyond humiliating now; his mother had pleaded with this peniaur ingem (decrepit ancient one) to coddle and safe-guard him. "Do you mean to say you would attempt to forcibly hold me captive?"

"If I said yes, would that induce you to leave here at once?"

"No!" Elladan stared at him in confusion and dismay. What was the old ellon implying? "I have given my word to Adar to carry out this task to the best of my ability and ensure Imladris is properly represented. That I mean to do, but I will not submit to any form of limitations placed upon my freedom."

"So you confirm my evaluation of your temperament," sighed Círdan, rising also. "You are too much like your grand-sire. I will say this to you: as long as I deem you fit to participate and determine your welfare is not in jeopardy, so long will I permit you to remain in Mithlond. Yet if I decree it, you will be sent form here, under guard if necessary, rather than have a a fate befall you from which few could recover."

"I do not understand. Are you referring to sea-longing? If so, it has never plagued any in my lineage," Elladan answered, struck by the genuine note of concern underscoring the Lord's unexpected words. He was no less chagrined to have attributed this discussion to less than kindly intentions on Círdan's part.

"Nay, it is not sea-longing that threatens you, Elladan, but your own defiant, impulsive, inquisitive nature. That and your uncanny resemblance to"

A brief knock sounded on the door and it opened, interrupting the Telerin Lord's explanation and admitting a tall, majestic person dressed in rich silken robes of ocean blue, the cloth weighty and dripping with an opulent abundance of iridescent pearls and twinkling gems.

He was so tall he towered over both elves by nearly a head and gazed down upon them with clever, crafty eyes of pale aquamarine. Long, white hair fell about his shoulders, unbound and free, kept from flying in his face by the imposition of a most unusual coronet of pearls and echinoderm spines upon his brow. His features announced patrician blood of refined lineage and his mouth presented a rather condescending, indulgent smile as his sight travelled over Elladan with a degree of evaluation that was discomforting. His feet were not visible beneath the pooled hem of the fabulous garment and his hands were tucked into the broad belled cuffs of either sleeve. Neither human nor elf-kind, he made no effort to minimise the effect his ethereal presence had on the occupants of the room.

Nowë Círdan bowed low, his beard held tight against his chest to prevent it from brushing the floor and the son of Elrond stood gaping in flabbergasted wonder.

"Greetings, mellon iaur," said Ossë, Lord of the Open Seas, second only to Ulmo in mastery of the liquid regions of Arda. "Forgive my interruption, Nowë, but we must speak together." His penetrating eyes scanned Elladan's face with interest and something like satisfaction.

"Mae govannen, Hîren," answered Círdan, straightening and moving closer to Elladan, placing a fatherly hand upon his shoulder. "I am at your disposal. This is Elladan son of Elrond son of Eärendil." He turned uneasily to Elladan. "May I present Lord Ossë, Maia and Guardian of the waters of Arda."

Elladan recovered his wits and made a respectable bow to the famous Maia. Many were the stories surrounding the doings of Ossë and his part in the history of the elves, not all of it good, and his instincts began screaming warnings. Nevertheless, he could not prevent his mouth from forming the thoughts of his heart into words. "Suilad, Hîr Ossë, master of storms, raiser of islands, and destroyer of ships."

"Forgive my guest's unguarded tongue, Hîren." A short, sharp breath preceded Círdan's words and his grip on Elladan's shoulder tightened to vice-like proportions as he spoke. Subtly, he shifted to partially shield the younger elf with his body, shooting the Imladrian Lord a warning glare. "Elladan is a new delegate to our conference on emigration and has not yet learned all the protocols required or the proper etiquette of the Falas." Elladan opened his mouth, whether to protest or apologise Círdan neither knew nor cared, digging his nails into the muscle beneath his hand to prevent it.

As for Ossë, he threw back his head and laughed aloud, hands unfolding from the cover of the sleeves like hermit crabs emerging from their shells, reaching for the impetuous elven lord with his webbed fingers.

"Oh, I like this one, Nowë, very much." He settled his scaly palm on Elladan's other shoulder, letting the weight of it be fully felt, a weight and density unlike anything revealed by ordinary flesh and bone. He watched as that realisation spread through Elladan's eyes. "You are bold and that is something I regard with high favour," he remarked, tone light and laced with menace, "but have a care. There is but a feeble boundary between brash honesty and crude insult."

"Aye Hîren, I will make every effort not to cross that boundary," murmured Elladan, finding his pulse racing. In his childhood, he had been horror stricken to learn of the numbers of people Ossë had caused to die by suffocation in the drowning seas. The Maia's excuse that his actions upheld the will of the Valar had never been acceptable to Elladan, who objected to the concept of following orders that were so obviously immoral. It was a brand of cowardice he particularly despised in that the perpetrator of the commanded atrocity refused any responsibility for his or her actions in carrying it out. In the being's actual presence, however, these objections were submerged beneath the inundating potency of Ossë's power.

"Well said," smirked the benthic Istar. "Your youth and inexperience excuse your fiery words, Lord Elladan of Imladris, and your compassionate spirit commends you to the task at hand. In time, perhaps you will come to appreciate the burden obedience places upon me," he smiled, removing his hand as he felt a shudder of revulsion moving through the elf's skin beneath it.

"Elladan, please excuse us. There is much I must discuss with Hîr Ossë. I have arranged for one of my aids to accompany you through the realm so that you may begin to learn of Lindon and her purpose," Círdan said, frowning at the Maia severely. He walked Elladan to the door and practically shoved him through the opening, a wordless glance to the scribe inciting that person to rise and announce the closing of the audience until one hour past Anor's zenith.

  
"What else have you kept from me?" demanded Elladan, livid in his wrath and itching to snatch up Enerdhil by the neck and wring the ellon senseless. "That was _Ossë_ for Valar's sake!"

"I haven't held anything back," insisted Enerdhil, not in the least cowed by the outburst. "You've refused to read the reports I furnished and that is in no wise my fault. Had you done so, this experience would have been expected. Ossë lives in the sea, after all, and has always held the Faladhrim dear. He has long been a friend to Hîr Círdan."

Elladan could say little to that, for it was true he'd eschewed perusing the detailed document Enerdhil had handed him before leaving Imladris. That was the entire purpose of having Enerdhil along, in his opinion. Why should he duplicate the effort Erestor's second in command had already made? "What I expect is to be kept informed and in this you have failed," he snapped, preparing to launch into a fitting tirade that would surely blast the smug ellon's insolence and return him to comprehension of his rightful place in this undertaking. Even as he drew breath to begin, Enerdhil stopped him cold.

"You are mistaken," he hissed, taking a step closer and dropping his voice. "My purpose here is not to act as your nursemaid, Elladan. I am aide to Erestor, an advisor of high rank in my own right, and neither your servant nor a foot-soldier under your command. On Hîr Elrond's request I have come along to assist you, nothing more nor less, for it should be me standing in Erestor's place. Yet though I have centuries of experience dealing with the Faladhrim, you would disregard it, and me, with a wave of your hand." Enerdhil stood tall and glared at Elladan coldly, arms crossed over his chest. "Even so, for Erestor's sake and your father's I would do my best for you. The situation you find yourself in is not what it appears, yet some things I am not at liberty to divulge, at least not yet. I can guide you without betraying that confidence entrusted to me, but you will have to be willing to listen and do as I suggest."

In silence they gauged one another across the space of the sitting room of the advisor's suite, the same apartment Erestor and Enerdhil always occupied when in Mithlond. It was not overly ornate or posh but furnished with good taste and an eye for comfort. The style was not so very different from the chambers the seneschal kept in the Last Homely House, which served as both his offices and domicile, and Enerdhil fit right in, virtually as permanent a fixture here as he was in Imladris. It was Elladan who did not belong and if he was the last one to realise it, much less admit it, then at least he was now open to doing so. His anger drained away and he exhaled a beleaguered sigh, posture slumping a bit as he looked away.

"Aye, you are right," he said. "I have been obnoxious lately and I apologise." He chanced a glance at the worthy secretary and found the ellon's face still set in grim dissatisfaction. Like Erestor, like Elrond, Enerdhil had been a valiant warrior before turning to state-craft and politics. He was neither retiring nor ignorant of the tactics required when dealing with situations far more volatile than this. Elladan found he was ashamed to have treated the elder ellon little better than he would an backwards Wood Elf or a lowly stable hand.

"Enerdhil, I cannot possibly learn all that you know of Lindon in three days time. You have served with Lord Erestor for more centuries than I have been alive and I am a fool to have discounted your superior knowledge and experience. You have no reason to grant me a second chance but I beg it anyway, for the sake of the council if not for me personally." He made a quick bow, hand over his heart, and waited to learn the outcome of this attempt at reparation.

Enerdhil shook his head and sighed a shallow, disgruntled complaint. "I have no wish for this, your first diplomatic mission, to fail. I will certainly grant you whatever help I can, Elladan, but cannot stress enough the mistake made in sending you here in the first place. Nay!" he raised his palm to halt the indignant rebuke about to burst from the young lord's lips. "Whatever your family and friends may do, I am not going to pretend that all is well with you. It is time to face the truth, however unpleasant it may be to hear. You are grieving over Elrohir."

"What? Nay, I am not. He is not dead, Enerdhil, merely engaged to be wed," scoffed Elladan, but his bravado was false and both knew it. All colour faded from his face as he stared with open eyes at the silent scribe, in whose expression neither pity nor sympathy resided. Elladan swallowed against the dryness in his throat and looked away. "II am not used to being without him, that is true," he said quietly.

"It is more than that and you must own it or face grave consequences," urged Enerdhil, his voice taking on a distinctly uneasy quality that at once caught Elladan's notice.

"I am not going to fade away," he employed the arrogant, mocking tone and winced to hear it lacquered over such horrific words. He tried again. "I am not in any danger of fading, Enerdhil."

"I did not say you were, but your soul is wounded nonetheless. He is part of you, more so than the reverse, and that is what is so painful right now. Under these conditions, you are highly vulnerable to manipulation of a specific variety."

Elladan physically flinched at this, for Enerdhil had voiced the bald, brutal kernel of his dilemma. Elrohir did not even notice how deeply his abandonment of his twin had hurt Elladan, and that was far worse than the actual fact of his preference for his espoused soul-mate. "I don't know what you mean," Elladan whispered, shaking his head faintly.

"If you cannot face this, much hardship awaits you," Enerdhil prophesied darkly. "Be wary of the sea, Elladan, and stay well away from it. The rolling immensity of it will lure you, beckoning and seductive, for against such infinite magnitude woes and worries diminish, drowned in its incessant and sonorous song. Do not go sailing upon its surface nor wandering beside it along the barren coast. Yet I know you will not heed me, even as Erestor foresaw, and so at least promise this: do not do these things alone. Take me or one of the guards with you wherever you roam."

He urged this strongly, coming close and grasping Elladan's arm tight as he peered intently into the shuttered grey eyes. It made the young lord uncomfortable and he saw it, regretting at once his error. _~Better to have said nothing, for now I have put the thought in his mind.~_ With this revelation came great guilt and Enerdhil turned away even as Elladan resumed his cavalier manner.

"I thought you said you aren't along to be my nursemaid," he laughed, a forced, mirthless sound, and moved to the balcony to get some distance from Enerdhil's unsettling speech. "Enough of these gloomy forebodings. I am uncomfortable without my twin beside me and this I do admit, but I will not falter nor fall to ruin because of it. Forewarned is forearmed, as Adar so likes to remind me, and now that you have done your duty I will be wary and vigilant lest one of Uinan's sea-nymphs ensnare me."

Enerdhil smiled sadly and joined his Lord's son, leaning on the rail to gaze upon the sombre city stretched before them. Mithlond was all white limestone, silver spires, and crystal domes and the rooftops shimmered and rippled, dazzling in the heat of the blistering sun, the palm trees still in the stagnant air. It was not Uinan who would be dangerous and should her watery acolytes seek out Elladan, then Enerdhil would rejoice. _~Nay, it is Ossë who poses the greatest threat to him, and he cannot guess this. Too long have you stayed by your brother's side, Elladan, imagining his presence would ever be a shield to you.~_ It was not from the world this protection was required, he knew, but from Elladan himself.

"Aye, forgive my histrionic orations, Hîren. I, too, am bereft." He waited until Elladan's eyes turned in question to meet his and shrugged, a resigned and mournful motion. "Without Erestor, I feel lost and without purpose, and disappointed as well, for this trip is a sort of annual pilgrimage for us. A holiday, if you will, though there is much work done, too. In Imladris, our relationship is not condoned, but here in Mithlond no one cares at all. We are free to express it openly without censure or even notice."

Elladan's brows went up sharply; this was news indeed! He had wondered and mentioned the notion to Elrohir, who denied its credibility. Erestor and Enerdhil were friends and colleagues but surely not lovers. The brothers had wagered on it yet never discovered a polite means of settling the bet. It just wasn't good form to go to someone and ask bluntly whom they were bedding. _~Particularly when the coupling in question is forbidden.~_ It was a startling thing for the advisor to admit, especially given the poor attitude Elladan had presented, and he knew not what to say in response. Yet if Enerdhil hoped his disclosure would inspire like confidence from Elladan, he was mistaken.

"Here then is another reason to disparage the Wood Elves' King," Elladan quipped, smiling to hide his discomfort.

"Indeed," Enerdhil intoned, a lop-sided smirk covering his disappointment. He did not know how he would face Erestor if anything detrimental happened. A sharp pang stabbed at his heart as he studied the young lord. There was only one course left to him, yet he hesitated, knowing Erestor would not want him to reveal what he knew unnecessarily. Still, Erestor would be furious and devastated should this terrible doom overtake the young lord. Enerdhil made his decision; he would reveal all and swear Elladan to the secrecy he himself had sworn.

"Elladan, come inside and sit. There is something serious I must discuss with you, something I hinted about earlier. I am loathe to do it, but I must reveal the true purpose behind your presence here," he said, making every effort to keep the tone of doom and dread from his voice. Elladan was peering at him with a peculiar expression on his face and shook his head.

"Once more your words confound me," he said. "I am here, if all excuses be set aside, because my parents hope my separation from Elrohir will grant him the peace of mind and freedom to complete his courtship without further confrontations. There is nothing secret about it."

"That may be so, yet there are other forces in play that you do not comprehend and it is to that I would speak, but let us retire within. I have no desire to be overheard."

"As you wish," Elladan said uneasily and retreated to the parlour again.

Yet before Enerdhil could proceed, a knock on the door preceded the promised aide, who hurriedly spirited Elladan away to begin his tour and study of the tri-part culture under which Lindon existed. Understanding all too well that this was no coincidence, Enerdhil sat down and penned a hasty report to Erestor, knowing it would not reach him in time. That done, the advisor boldly went in search of Hîr Círdan, there to plead for Elladan's removal from the council.

  
Elladan was exhausted. His tour of the realm had just concluded and he wanted nothing more than to summon his warriors and leave this place. Crowded, sombre, and utterly still, the mood of the tri-part city-state was unbearably depressing, the sense of despair and mourning so palpable he'd felt it as a physical weight upon his heart. Not in any of the numerous zones wherein housed the various factions did he find a healthy elven population, save one. The relatively small numbers of Faladhrim dwelling in their villages on the southern side of the Gulf of Lhûn were of the temperament Elladan associated with Telerin elves: joyful and filled with laughter and music to the point that it spilled out and bathed the streets with their singing and dancing and merry-making. How he wished his quarters were situated there!

In every other neighbourhood the people were gloomy and given to acerbic complaining should anyone seek to engage them in conversation, as Elladan had been instructed by Círdan to do. The Noldorin ghetto was by far the worst, the elves' silent fury and inestimable contempt expressed by sullen faces and dull, distrustful eyes. These people, he learned, were not awaiting passage to Aman at all. They were holding on to Ost-en-Ardaur (Capitol of the High King) against the 'hordes' of infiltrating lesser elves cramming their lofty streets and graceful gardens, polluting their fair realm with gaudy raiment, bawdy songs of the sea, and the strong odours of their humble cooking. The Noldorin folk were waiting for Gil-Galad to be reborn and return from Valinor, for they would accept no lesser scion of the House of Finwë as their rightful Lord.

This last, Elladan realised, was directed pointedly at him and his family's link to the House of Finwë through Idril. As a child, he had asked his father why he did not take up the crown of the High King upon Gil-galad's death, for the great leader had died childless and Elrond was the great-grandson of Turgon. Elrond had explained that the time of such glories and conceits was over. His duty was not to raise up a vast kingdom of wealth and power, but to ready the world for the day when men would assume their rightful place as stewards of Arda, men of the lineage of Elros, his brother. The time of the elves was over, he'd said, though for a little while more they would be needed. Elladan was dismayed to discover the true reason Elrond had declined to rule was political opposition rather than high ideals.

These were also the people most eager to bend his ear regarding the costs involved in maintaining the last refuge of the grieving, the fearful, and the suffering. The Noldorin residents presented Elladan with claims for damages against the emigrants coming from Imladris, maintaining that the transient population depleted the area's limited resources and strained the stability of the region's struggling economy. The frustrated Noldorin Lords and Ladies of Lindon (not Mithlond, which was Círdan's city) complained that they frequently had to dip into their private store of riches to cover the expenses of these penniless, broken people who showed up hoping for passage to the Blessed Realm. When he'd asked why this was not addressed with the ruling council of Lindon, the elves had practically blasted him deaf with their vociferous denouncements of the Telerin Lord and his cronies, who in no circumstance could ever be considered worthy to rule them.

Now dwelling beside the Noldor section of Forlond was a sizeable contingent of Sindarin people, refugees from the kingdoms of Gondolin and Doriath. One might imagine these two groups would have coalesced into a single body yet it was not so. Those who counted themselves 'Doriathians' held themselves aloof from the grey elves they named 'Gondolindhrim' and flatly refused to have anything to do with the Noldorin 'kin-slayers'. Círdan was the recognised Lord of the Doriathians while the Gondolindhrim claimed Galdor as their rightful leader, dismissing the connection between Imladris and Turgon as easily as did the Noldor and for similar reasons.

The Doriathians occupied a narrow strip of forested land between the Houses of Healing and the palace, complaining the area was too small, adding that the wooded foothills of Ered Lhuin, which abutted Forlond, ought to be given to them rather than left to the scattered clusters of Avarin elves which had been living there since the Great Journey. The Avarin silvans answered these arguments with the suggestion that the Doriathians go join Thranduil in his Greenwood beyond Hithaeglir, an insult of the highest order according to people acclimated to the high culture of Thingol and Melian. The majority of disputes brought before Círdan and Galdor to decide involved the divided Sindarin population and their many altercations with the Noldor and the Avari.

Elladan began to understand why the council on emigration was held annually, an undeniably short amount of time for the First-born.

That he had visited the Noldorin quarter last and the Houses of Healing first was a mistake. Elladan was irritated that Círdan had insisted on this order. Surely he must understand how thoroughly hopeless and useless he would feel upon concluding such a tour of inspection. Yet if Elladan had been eager to leave the sick and dying, he had not been eager to mingle with the Telerin folk of Harlond, thinking them rather simple and lacking in the depth of understanding to which he was accustomed. The Faladhrim reminded him most of the Galadhrim, who had gained a veneer of refinement thanks to Galadriel and Celeborn's efforts to educate them yet remained at heart silvan hunter-gatherers unconcerned with conditions or peoples beyond the borders of their woods. So, too, had the elves of the sea benefited from association with Gil-galad and his people, yet were still rather blind to the rest of the world. The Telerin tribes remained closely attached to their particular environments, the Galadhrim to their Mallorn forest and the Faladhrim to their raging surf.

The sea-elves were enamoured of their life beside the realm of Ulmo and Ossë, delighting in their pleasure boats and their fishing fleets and their warships alike. Every song on their lips proclaimed their love and pride for their home and they did not look with yearning upon the horizon, searching for the dim dark mass of the hidden realm of the Valar. They gazed upon the faint grey line betwixt air and earth with hunger, eager simply to be out there, to discover and explore what wonders might be waiting for them in the vast and uncharted expanse of the open sea. They spoke to Elladan of friendship forged between them and the great Dinen Thuiadhrim (Underwater Breathers), immense creatures that dwelled solely in the oceans but unlike fishes breathed the air above the whitecaps. They told him of their festivals based on the shifting patterns of the stars, so bright and clear above the darkened deeps. Indeed, the Faladhrim referred to the sky as Aear-en-Ellanath, the Sea of Stars. Not a few of these humble folk had offered to teach him sailing and ship building as well. Their welcome and their jovial nature won him and Elladan went form Harlond with a light heart and many invitations to gatherings and dances that he was pleased to accept.

He had not come to them with so pleasant an outlook. The Houses of Healing were not a collection of wards for treatment and cures; they were an entire sector of the realm. All of Mithlond was surrounded by vast ghettos of housing for the sick, the dying, the fading, and those consumed by their sorrows unto madness. They were divided by degrees of morbidity, those closest to death pushed to the extreme edges of the city walls where the husk of the body could be easily and surreptitiously removed for burial once the end finally came. Relatives and loved ones watched over these ephemeral citizens, tending ailments of body and soul with varying levels of skill and tenderness, ever nervous and fearful that the time for leaving was too far off and their charges would perish before sailing. When not attending the sick, these folk haunted the streets and crowded the courtyard of Círdan's palace, seeking alms and news of the next launching.

Others secretly feared for their kin to even attempt the journey and in subtle ways delayed their passage, subconsciously hoping for the separation of Hroa and Feä that would release both the suffering individual and the people watching them decline. Elladan had seen this attitude before in Imladris; fear of Námo's judgement easier to face than fear of the unknown and treacherous sea. If one must die, was it not preferable to die quietly in the embrace of kith and kin than to drown in terror beneath the green waves? Many who might recover on the Blessed Shores were prevented from taking the journey, various excuses, the principal one being lack of money to fund the building of the ship and the purchase of stores, posited as the cause. The second greatest protest pertained to lack of experience handling boats on the open sea, for the Faladhrim did not, for the most part, sail the vessels designed for these voyages, being unwilling to leave forever their homeland.

None who made the crossing could return, or at least none ever had, and it was necessary to create and train a crew from among the very folk so ill and reduced in strength and vigour. Sometimes the relatives and loved ones made the commitment to go and these cases usually sailed quickly, the healthy more able to learn the intricate skills required to navigate the sea and control the able crafts constructed for them. Yet it took time to develop the level of expertise required for a journey of such magnitude, and so the desperate lingered, lost in the piteous meanderings of their blasted souls. Those closer to the palace were still painfully aware of everything going on around them, a condition that surely added to their burdens, and Elladan had gazed into eyes so filled with misery, listened to laments and dirges so dismal, that his heart had come near to despair, the plight of these people resonating with his personal dilemma. Upon leaving the blighted zone for the quays of the harbour, he'd looked back and spied a dilapidated building adorned with an ominous sign: Suilannad an Ost-en-Amdir-Awarthant (Welcome to the City of Hope Abandoned).

Standing on his balcony now, the lovely rooftops of Lindon no longer inspired his romantic notions of a metropolitan enclave where many cultures mixed without mingling. This was a complex realm where a multitude of divergent views and opinions clashed, none of their respective adherents overly tolerant of the others, all of them consumed with the particular concerns of their immediate and separate needs. The Noldor scorned the Teleri who ignored them pointedly. The sick and their kin demanded priority in all issues that arose and insisted on a presence amid the ruling council. The long established population of Sindarin folk, both Doriathians and Gondolindhrim, considered themselves above everyone else and dominated the council, a feat achieved by intermarriage with the noble Telerin Houses, whom they considered of the same people, for all had remained behind in support of Elwë at the time of the Great Journey. Every single clique and clan agreed on only one thing: that the cost of supporting the ever-changing yet constant population of ailing and fading elves should be borne by the lands from which those elves derived.

"You begin to comprehend the problems here," said Enerdhil, joining Elladan on the balcony. In his hands were two cups of wine, one of which he handed to Elrond's son as he came to the wrought iron railing and gazed upon the city. "It looks so magnificent," he mused. "One would never imagine how turbulent and divided the people are."

"I think if I remained in this city a century I would still not understand all that underpins the dissension infecting this place," rejoined Elladan, sipping the wine and relishing the cool, dry flavour as it slid down his throat. He wanted Enerdhil to leave him in peace with his thoughts but had little hope this would be his lot. There would be the obligatory state dinner to attend or a preliminary meeting of the councillors for the strengthening of ties and the renewing of alliances. "Would that I had remained in Annúminas with Arantar. I am beyond my ken here."

"Nay, this is but your first day. Given time and sufficient preparation, you would become a fine delegate to this council," encouraged Enerdhil. "No one can mend the troubles afflicting Mithlond save the Valar themselves. But they are not here so we must do what we can to keep this place at peace and functioning. You know now the magnitude of the burden placed on Hîr Círdan in serving this multitude of suffering beings. It is a noble cause Mithlond upholds, even if her people are less than pleased by its impositions."

Elladan nodded vaguely, thinking on the grave topic Enerdhil had tried to introduce earlier. Perhaps now they could continue, unless obligations to Círdan intervened again. "What is next on our agenda?" he asked and drained his goblet dry.

"For you, nothing until the morrow. Círdan knows how draining this day has been for you. I will fulfil the role of Imladris' ambassador at the formal dinner tonight. You are to stay here and rest. Sleep would be best if you can manage it."

"I would be lying if I claimed to be disappointed by these arrangements. Thank you, Enerdhil." Elladan was so relieved to hear this he refrained from reminding the advisor that he was a seasoned warrior and could sleep anytime, anywhere as need demanded. Instead he smiled in gratitude. "Do not commit me to any obligations to any of the noble Houses, especially regarding courtship of fair daughters or spinster aunts."

"Oh, I would never presume to do so," assured Enerdhil, "but you might consider marriage. It is an honourable station and an impenetrable shield against the criticisms of our culture."

"Is this advice part of the news you wished to share with me?" Elladan stiffened and frowned. "Am I slated to endure a political bond with someone I neither know nor care about? I will tell you now quite plainly: I would not marry for so selfish a cause, nor for any reason that did not include full commitment of the heart and soul."

A servant invaded at this moment, announcing the arrival of Hîr Círdan, and Elladan was spared further discussion on the merits of hiding his true nature behind the dubious propriety of a sham marriage. Enerdhil was once again forced to hold his tongue regarding the information he felt compelled to divulge, though Círdan had counselled him to wait as it might not be necessary. The noble Teleri Lord interrogated his newest delegate regarding his researches and seemed satisfied. He left, taking Enerdhil with him, admonishing Elladan to remain in the palace and rest. That marked the third time Elladan had been warned to not to wander off on his own.

He scowled, thinking on that, displeased and confused as to why everyone judged him incapable of looking after himself. Just because he had always been at Elrohir's side did not mean he could not comport himself properly without his twin. Had he really behaved like a shadow of his brother rather than exhibiting his own personality? Even as he wondered Elladan knew it was true; early in his adolescence he'd realised the one difference they shared was the one that would never be tolerated, and he'd feared to lose the respect and esteem of his peers and his betters. Most people assumed the identical twins to be identical in all ways, and the brothers had let them.

Yet now he must consider a new possibility. Perhaps everyone already knew, for Enerdhil clearly did, as did Hîr Círdan. Perhaps it had been obvious all along and he was the only one who thought his secret secure, lulled by the notion that Elrohir's outgoing, glowing perfection would shield him.

That led to another unpleasant idea: had Elrohir postponed his courtship and betrothal for love of his brother, out of pity for the lonely fate his twin must endure? How shameful, then, Elladan's dismissal of Elrohir's attraction for Echuil'laer as one of base lust that could easily be satisfied, the comely maid forgotten once she'd served her purpose. How cold his insistence that Elrohir woo her and bed her quickly that the twins might then resume their life of soldiering, their life together.

_~Ai! Forgive me, Muindoren. I was the selfish one.~_

He breathed a woebegone lungful of air, finding the suite stifling, yet when he retreated to the balcony the atmosphere was decidedly heavy and humid. The sound of music and laughter arose from the palace ballroom below and he suddenly felt isolated and ostracised. The fact that he had been purposely avoiding everyone and everything since leaving Imladris was irrelevant and he found himself wishing Enerdhil had remained with him. Even an argument was preferable to being shunned.

_~Elrohir rejects me utterly, Adar and Naneth send me packing, and now these odious people scorn my presence at their posh soiree.~_

With frightening clarity he saw his life stretched out before him, century upon century passing as he endured, alone, the cool courtesy reserved for those who were different, abnormal, marked by weak-willed surrender to unseemly tastes and habits, not fit for more than the most formal degrees of contact and that only because of his heritage. A thousand sets of eyes would peruse him, sneering at his secret with but faintly hidden scorn and aversion. He would look in his mother's eyes and see shame; in his father's, pity.

It was too much; he banished the unwholesome scene from his mind with an audible cry, abruptly turning from the view to take up his cloak, exhorting the servant not to trouble either Enerdhil or Hîr Círdan with his departure as he would most likely return before the feast ended. He fled along the narrow streets threaded between the close and crowded houses, heading for the harbour and the quays. There he secured passage on a ferry and crossed the bay into Forlond. Once there, he avoided the neat, symmetrical neighbourhoods, ignored the quiet square with its empty stalls and shuttered shops, and followed the path through the lowlands to land's end, there to turn and stride northward along the coast.

The wind picked up, gusting from the north, and he was glad for the cloak, pulling it close and raising the hood. A few of the Faladhrim were about, clustered in small groups around bonfires, singing, sharing their thick, brown gwinnaur (fire-wine). Curious and friendly, several invited him to join, but while he was tempted he declined, judging himself unfit to endure their questions or participate in their merriment. He paced on and in time left even the sea-elves behind, passing beyond the borders of Forlond. Here the landscape was empty and wild, the dunes capped with waving plumes of golden grass, the full heads of seed nodding and bowing in the brisk breeze.

The tide was coming in, waves pounding with thunderous power against the strand, the light of Ithil revealing the high, round backs of the approaching swells ere they turned over and flashed their white foaming underbellies, eviscerated in the shallows of the beach. It was a strange and alien landscape and Elladan found it suited his sombre mood. Just as he was wondering how long it would be before Enerdhil sent the guard looking for him, he heard a faint and fragile voice upon the wind that as quickly disappeared beneath the crashing of the surf.

The sound startled him, so far from any dwelling, and at first he thought perhaps he'd stumbled upon a village of the Avari people. Yet the sound had come from the sea and next his heart skipped, wondering if he'd just heard the song of Dinen Thuiadhrim of which the sailors had spoken. Eagerly he turned to face the darkly roiling ocean, hoping to spy the spout and spray of the mighty beasts. Long he remained fixed, waiting for proof that he had not imagined it, and then a shift in the wind brought him another snatch of the musical voice.

This time there was enough of it to understand words and detect a sweet and haunting tune accompanied by a chord from the strings of a harp or lyre. The singer was elf-kind and he wondered what other lonely soul was wandering the shores in the night, seeking solace in the sea. Before he could decide whether or not to search for this person, a voice right behind him made Elladan startle badly.

"Suilad, Elladan. Have you heard the call of the sea?"


	4. Part Four: Ossë

### ~ Part Four: Ossë ~

Elladan turned to discover Ossë reclining on the beach, a radiant light about him to display his naked form to best effect. He was not alone and made no effort to hide the fact that he was engaged in intimate converse with the figure straddling his hips. She could only be Uinan, his wife, and spared Elladan a brief smile as she rode her mate with obvious pleasure. At the moment of mutual culmination, she shimmered in a brilliant eruption of golden sparks and vanished, leaving her husband where he lay. Elladan could only stare, unable to process what had happened much less what the proper reaction might be. Congratulations? Indignant objections? Ribald laughter? It was utterly bizarre and he remained rooted to the spot as Ossë rose and approached him, somehow manifesting clothing as he did.

"Forgive me, that was rather rude, but Uinan so enjoys giving the locals a shock now and then. They've become acclimated to her ways, though, and so she pouts. When I saw you wandering alone, I could not resist the urge to grant her that small delight you witnessed," said the Maia, examining Elladan keenly as he had before, as if sizing him up for some unstated purpose.

It made Elladan uncomfortable and he stepped back. "Oh." He strained for something to say that was not objectionable. "Well, if my surprise enhanced the Lady's enjoyment then I am not unhappy for it," he stammered, glad for the darkness that lessened the impact of his embarrassed flush. He was also disappointed. Surely the voice must have been Uinan's and the ballad a song of love for her mate.

"What brought you here so far from the comforts of Nowë's palace?" Ossë asked, his tone friendly and companionable.

"The need for solitude," Elladan shrugged, unwilling to voice more of the truth than that, though he felt a strong urge to do so. At once his eyes narrowed; this was similar to the tingling sensation he felt when his grandmother attempted to delve his thoughts. The blood of Melian ran in his veins, however, and Elladan would not submit to such intrusions. "Daro," he said quietly.

"Ah! I wondered; I wondered," chuckled Ossë, delighted. "We had a wager on it, Uinan and I, and I've won it. You have more Maia in you than others in your line. But forgive me, I had to try," he bowed contritely and when he straightened circled Elladan's shoulders with his arm. He set off along the shore, drawing the elf with him. "Solitude. I confess I cannot understand the meaning of that term. I am always aware, always connected, to Uinan, to Hîr Ulmo and the rest of the Valar, and to the life of the sea. In all the time I have lived among the First-born, I have never been able to understand those few who seek to be alone. There is much greater comfort and happiness in sharing one's experiences."

"Even those who have the happiness instilled by bonds of friendship and love seek time set apart, time to meditate and ponder problems, time to consider the course of one's life and fate," answered Elladan, unwilling to permit this superior creature to pity him.

"Ah, yes, fate. That is most important for elves to ponder, so much of what they do influences the flow of the Music." There was mockery in his words but also a hint of wistfulness that made Elladan hold his tongue, as he knew it would, and he went on. "I know of the fate _you_ have chosen and rejoice in it. Yet is it not also true that too much solitude is detrimental for elf-kind? I have seen that this is so; many fading souls come here, grieving to the point of death for loved ones lost. They hasten over sea, yes?"

"Since you have seen it, you have no need for me to confirm it." Elladan stooped to slip from the confining pressure of the Maia's arm and stepped ahead rapidly with the firm intent to leave the strange being behind. How this abominable person knew of his choice, unless Enerdhil had revealed it, he did not know but felt his privacy invaded to an unacceptable degree.

"Have I offended?" Ossë blinked his star-bright eyes in innocent bewilderment, expending no effort to keep up with his reluctant companion. "That was not my intent. I ask out of worry and concern only."

That made Elladan stop and he faced the mighty sea-spirit. "Why do you speak such words? I am nothing to such as you; my need for solitude is of no consequence to any design you may have," he challenged.

"You are wrong," Ossë grinned and tapped Elladan's breastbone with a long, bony finger. "And it is not you for which I feel this concern. I have a dear friend, someone I have come to care for over the long years he has resided here. I fear for him; he spends all of his days alone and has no friend or companion of his own kind to share his woes. Or his joys."

"Ah, how compassionate," Elladan almost sneered, not believing for an instant this calculating, cold creature was capable of such empathy. "A trait for which you are well known. Many are the souls of men and elves you have sent to death and to Námo's halls. I am not so sure it is a good thing to meet you here, but am absolutely relieved the encounter is taking place on solid ground."

"Do not presume to wisdom you cannot possibly possess, child," Ossë let his voice fill with the anger of the sea and raised his arm high, a flick of his wrist seeming to call up the wind, which blew steady and strong but without the noisy gusts that muffled all other sound. "Do you believe my strength is greater than Ulmo's? Yet I do not hear you castigating him for those same deaths, any of which he might have prevented."

"Of course, you were only obeying the commands of your Lord and Master," scoffed Elladan, utterly disgusted.

"As does Ulmo, as does Manwë Sulimo. You dare to judge the Powers?" the Maia laughed at such cheek but the charge stung, having heard it so often from others of this particular lineage, human and elf-kind. "We shall soon see how well you fare when fate casts your lot counter to that which you might choose. Let all those who love you intervene, yet you will not escape it. But know that they will not intervene; nay, the people you love most have sent you to it, this dreadful fate, and you will be willingly sacrificed to bring it about. Let what is asked of you be repugnant to you, though I think it is not, yet you will fail to turn away from it. When the year is ended and all this has come to pass, then you and I will talk about obeying and dissenting."

"You would threaten me? You are not the master of any fate, especially mine." Yet Elladan's heart quailed at these dire prophesies and he backed away in haste, wishing he had a weapon with him, cursing himself for bringing none.

"I do not threaten so much as inform, but you are too blind to see." Ossë smiled, following close. This one was beyond perfect, both his personality and his appearance an amazingly close match, and he thanked Manwë for sending Elladan. "Even when the moment comes and you clearly recognise it as the pivotal moment when that fate engulfs you, even then you will do only that which is already determined you should do."

"Why are you telling me all this?" demanded Elladan, voice shrill and mind reeling. He was not prepared to trade truths with a demi-god and wanted it to stop.

"I tell you this because that is what I promised I would do," snarled Ossë. "Know that you _are_ well loved and little do you appreciate it. You have been give what few, even among my kind, have received: foreknowledge and full warning. Go! Ride back to Annúminas tonight. Turn away if you can!"

In silence they glared at one another, Elladan both frightened and intrigued, for Ossë was clearly acting upon some strange compunction against his general nature, which was secretive and cunning. Yet for all he had said, that which was most crucial had been left out.

"What is this dread doom poised to lay me low?" he asked, barely finding breath enough, courage enough to form the words.

Now Ossë smiled, a cruel and beguiling smile. "Already you step into the snare. You will join forces with me and aid me in realising _my_ fate," he said, laughing as the young elf lord recoiled.

"I will not!" protested Elladan, hands held forth before him to fend off this evil.

"We shall see," smirked Ossë. "My promise is fulfilled; all that I hope to achieve I have laid out plainly before you. You will do as fate demands and nothing less."

"You have explained nothing!" shrieked Elladan, terrified that somehow he had already sealed the pact without realising it. "This is some trickery and I do not consent to this!"

"Consent? What does that mean? Why do the First-born always protest against the very cause for their creation and existence as if they could be both parent and child at once? Never mind, I would do better to discuss the colour of the sky with the fishes in the deep." the Maia shrugged. "Yet if you would have still more truth, gladly will I give it. I am set the task of keeping this one soul well, this one I referred to at the beginning of our little chat. Realising 'well' to be a relative term, I am charged to maintain him as whole and stable as possible under the circumstances. I but thought to seek your guidance and your help, since he is elf-kind, though no need have I to extend such courtesy to you, Elladan of Imladris, for with a thought I can command of you what I require."

"You may have the power to do that but never the right!" Elladan exclaimed hotly, a sudden explosion of panic searing his thoughts and setting his heart to hammering.

He turned and bolted up the beach, kicking up clumps of the sticky sand as he fled, too fearful to look behind and learn if he was pursued. At length, no sign of his antagonist evident, his alarm receded and his blood cooled. He slowed to regain his composure and walked on slowly, gathering the cloak close as he shuddered, for the wind had not abated and his skin and clothes were wet with sweat. He had not gone more than a few metres when he heard the song again, strong and clear, carried on the steady north-west current of the night air. Eagerly he let the sound fill his thoughts, glad for this diversion to drive away the unsettling recollection of his encounter with the Maia.

His guess earlier had been wrong; this was not the fair voice of Uinan, wife to Ossë. There was no question that the singer was male, his voice more beautiful and melodious than any Elladan had ever heard. The tune he sang was accompanied by the strains of a lyre, plucked with skill and sensitivity, and the song filled the air, became the air. Elladan breathed and it was inside him, exhaling his thoughts, his emotions, and the song absorbed them, incorporated them. The singer sang of him now.

A sharp gasp left his lungs and of their own volition his legs carried him forward, his desire to find and confront this person realised by his body before his conscious mind could form the idea. The song was both ballad and lament, a despairing and dolorous requiem for love lost, for love spurned, yet also a potent and unapologetic lure, an enticing and beguiling call for this lover to return and submit to the embracing joy of their reunion. It was filled with hope; it was replete with despair and Elladan didn't know if he could bear to hear it, was absolutely certain he could not bear to have it end. He broke into a run and pounded up the strand, frantic to reach the singer before the song completed and the spell dissolved.

At last he spied an indistinct and shadowed figure perched on a spill of rocks tossed upon the shore from the craggy cliffs marching down from the mountains. That surprised him for he had not thought he'd come so far from Mithlond, yet surely he was once more at land's end, this time poised on the jutting point of the shallow cove that sheltered a small harbour in the Avarin lands north of Forlond. From here could be seen Himling when Anor reigned, but Ithil kept all in obscurity save the tumbling waves and a thin strip of sandy beach. On foot this was a two day hike. Yet his confusion was set aside for his curiosity would not be diverted and he carefully approached the musician, who sat entranced by his own artistry.

The dark abetted Elladan's desire to remain undetected, for he wished to see, hear, and feel this person freely, without the immediate and instinctive reserve one used when meeting another for the first time. He came closer, halting a metre distant, hidden in the shadow of a granite boulder, fearing to draw too close, and just made out a lean and slender form bent in a loving, possessive curl about the lyre, head inclined so his ear was close to the instrument and his dark hair whipped about in the wind. Its motion kept his features hidden, though every now and then Elladan had an impression of pale, patrician planes, a straight nose and a high brow. He must have made some sound then, for the music abruptly stopped and the ellon jumped up, rigid and ready for flight.

"Nay, please wait!" implored Elladan, holding out a hand in supplication as he came into full view. "I meant no harm. I only wished to listen. Please, continue." He could sense the elf's hesitation and took a measured step closer, and then another. He could see the face more clearly now and was struck by a distinct sense of recognition, though he could not resolve why this person seemed so familiar. He smiled and took another step and then the singer gasped and startled, his entire body jerking with the shock, the lyre falling with a dull thud to the sand.

"You, here?" the fair voice cried and the elf moved toward Elladan, halting in uncertainty, hand half lifting. "Elrond?"

Elladan's brows rose to his hair; he had never been mistaken for his Adar before, but perhaps it was not really so surprising, here in the dark, for someone to make such an error. He shook his head. "Nay, I am"

" _Elros!_ " the word was whispered out in a gush of warmth and wonder and joy, the elf closing the remaining distance in seconds, his hands coming up eagerly to frame the face before him, to which he bent his head and tenderly settled mouth to lips in a passionate kiss.

Elladan, stunned at first, came out of his amazement with an immediate and instinctive reaction, gripping the hands and tearing them from him, shoving hard to get this stranger off him. "What do you think you're doing?" he demanded, putting distance between them, touching his lips where the sensational connection lingered, filling him with unexpected and unwanted desire. While he dealt with that, the response to his violent rejection was poignant and stung his heart. The elf's very soul seemed to crumple up right before his eyes.

"Forgive me, forgive me!" he cried softly, cringing as he turned away, head dropping low. "I know you no longer want that from me, but I could not help it, so great was my happiness to see you again. I hoped your heart would be renewed, even as you have been."

He stooped to retrieve the lyre and then raced away up the strand, soon vanishing in the gloom so that Elladan had to hurry if he wished to solve this riddle. Yet he could not catch up, finding the elf had a boat and was already pushing it out into the waves, leaping into it, grasping oars and pulling for the open sea as though beset by Sauron himself.

"Wait!" Elladan called in vain as he waded into the surf, for now a sail unfurled and the boat leaped into motion, skipping over the shoaling waves of the sheltered cove. It vanished in the darkness and he retreated to the sand. Long he stood and gazed out into the emptiness, listening intently for any sign of the stranger's voice, but only the persistent, relentless surge of the tide resounded in the night. The dawn neared and the sky lightened and suddenly Elladan knew he was not alone. He spun to find Ossë seated on the very rock the singer had used. His presence was entirely too much of a coincidence; their cryptic conversation too neat a fit.

"What do you know of this?" demanded Elladan. "Who is that elf?"

"The friend I mentioned. You agree, he is beyond loneliness. Heartbreak and pining consume him," said the Maia.

"Yes, and madness. He thought first that I was Elrond and then mistook me for Elros. He he kissed me." Again he felt his lips. Was he imagining the warmth of that tender, passionate embrace still lingered?

"Nae, do you think it is madness? I admit that is what others have told me, but I hoped to find means to aid him. I do not like to see him this way. He has become despondent before but always rallied, recalled to his music, to his gift of interpreting the Song."

"Why does he not sail? Surely you could ensure his safe journey to Aman."

"He cannot. Or will not," Ossë shrugged. "He is bound to stay."

"Why? If he is truly alone and abandoned, what can hold him here to this bleak and empty shore?"

"I am not certain it is right for me to tell you all his secrets," Ossë said evasively and rose, sauntering away toward Forlond. "You do not seem the sympathetic type after all. You are not as I was led to believe, Elladan of Imladris."

"I know not what you mean," Elladan hastened to join him, determined to have answers. "I am compassionate enough but I am not in the habit of letting total strangers kiss me, especially with such" he broke off, displeased to be speaking so freely with Ossë, whom he did not trust.

"He didn't know he was kissing a stranger, Elladan, that must be obvious even to you. Have you not already said it? He thought you were Elros, who in days long past was his beloved, dearer to him than anything else in creation, save only one." Ossë replied patiently. He settled his weighty arm across the elf's shoulders again, smiling. "You do favour him."

"That cannot be. I am identical to my brother."

"Then both of you resemble the twins who came before you, is that so difficult to encompass? Elrond and Elros grew up along these very shores and their history is well known; therefore, much gossip attends your arrival here now. Surely you have noticed the stares and the whispers."

Elladan had noticed, though his interpretation of the rude behaviour had been misguided by his turmoil over the breach with Elrohir. What he knew of Elros was limited, confined to what the histories revealed or what Erestor would explain, for his father would not speak of his long dead brother. He had to admit he had not been overly curious about his uncle before, accepting that he was with them only in the dilute and divergent progeny who regularly fostered at Imladris before leaving to rule at Annúminas. Now here was a hint that his uncle's life was not without its intrigues even before he made his choice to accept the Gift of Men. Someone, an elf, had loved him dearly once. "You have not told me who he is."

Ossë was silent for a time and paused as he seemed to consider whether or not to answer, yet there was at the same time no doubt that he had every intention of naming the heartbroken lover. He watched Elladan, waiting for the answer to come of its own accord, for the signs were obvious and few were the elves who could match the attributes so recently presented. When this realisation filled Elladan's eyes, then at last he spoke.

"Maglor."

"Maglor?!"

All the air rushed form Elladan's lungs as he spoke the name in hushed astonishment, amazed to have his guess confirmed, and yet the next instant felt he had always known, even as the very first lyrical strains of the song had reached him. No wonder his sense of recognition had been so strong; there was a portrait of Maglor and one of Maedhros hanging in the gallery of Imladris. A thousand questions burst upon his mind and he gave them voice.

"What is he doing here? How long has he been in Lindon? Why has no one said anything of it, for is he not banished permanently from all the elven realms?" A sudden thought seized his tongue. "You are hiding him, protecting him!"

"I am not hiding him; Nowë is aware of his presence and graciously leaves me to my own affairs, my own fate, as I leave him to his."

"I cannot believe that! Maglor is a kin-slayer; he and Maedhros decimated the havens at Sirion. Hîr Círdan would never give him shelter amid the kin of those he so brutally destroyed."

"You know nothing of Nowë, Elladan. He and I are the only ones left who were here when the Great Journey commenced. We were still here when the Noldor returned, their hands already bloody and their minds fractured by lust for the Silmarili. Through all the wars and horrors and treacheries to come we remained, he and I, steadfast in our purpose. When the War of Wrath was done and the earth reshaped, together we came here and established this place, this haven. We have an understanding you could never comprehend, though it was my hope that you might aid our cause. This haven was not designed to be the port of emigration for all the elves of Arda, though thus it has become. It was designed to be a haven for one, only one. We are both protecting Maglor, you see."

"You lie," Elladan shook his head in denial. "What you say implies knowledge of all that was to transpire because of those gems. You do not possess that much power for even Manwë does not see all ends."

"I did not need that sort of clarity to know the Silmarili and the foul Oath of Feänor would wreak havoc on Middle-earth. The simple fact that Morgoth had the jewels and that his possession of them, or rather the loss of them, broke Feänor's mind, was sufficient to understand how deadly, how perilous they would become." Ossë caught Elladan at the shoulders with both his scaly hands and gave him a brisk and jarring shake."Think! The jewels became tainted, as the Valar knew they would, once in the grasp of Melkor. Not all that happened because of that can be laid at the feet of the Noldorin Princes, especially not Maglor's. Of all people, you should appreciate that there is good in him, Elladan. Has your father said nothing of the love he bears for this ruined elf?"

"You are the one who is mad!" Elladan extricated himself from the unpleasant grip and backed away. "Adaren will not speak of them, either of them, so great is his disgust and shame to have been associated with them. He names that same ignominy as the cause which stole Elros from the First-born, and from him."

"Ai Valar! Can you be so dense or are you too frightened to investigate your own history?"

"I am not frightened," Elladan drew himself up and glared into the faded watery eyes of the Istar. "Not enough to cower before you and accept your words without question or argument."

"Good! Then consider what I have said and prepare your rebuttal. I welcome the chance to convince you of the truth. When I have done that, then we will talk again of how to help him. Maglor must not fade; I simply will not permit it, yet the Valar will not allow him entry to the Blessed Realm. An alternative must be found. You will help me realise it, Elladan. I leave you now, for I see Nowë has the guards out scouring the lands to find you. Meet me at the point tomorrow night."

Even as Ossë vanished, the strident shout of Enerdhil calling his name caused Elladan to turn toward Forlond, and he was stunned to see how much distance he had covered in the little time he and the Maia had conversed. Ossë must be responsible for his inexplicable speed, yet why stop here? Why not transport him to his rooms and prevent the unsightly scene that was about to unfold? The answer made him grimace in fury: Ossë wanted him to be humiliated by being marched back to Mithlond like an errant elfling, there to withstand Círdan's blistering censure. Well, for once he welcomed it; if the aged elda was truly in league with the volatile Maia he would admit it when questioned directly. Elladan determined to tell all to the Lord of Mithlond and demand whatever truth the Maia's words contained.

  
"Now you comprehend my reasons for wishing you had never returned to Lindon," intoned Círdan. He sat not behind his austere and document heaped desk but in the sunny courtyard of his massive abode. From the terraced gardens here one could look upon the ever-restless ocean, its waters a pale jade this morning, the waves calm and regular, the tide at its highest so that even the barnacles on the pilings at the docks were hidden beneath its salty expanse.

"No, I do not," sighed Elladan, "unless you fear that I will reveal Maglor's presence here to the populace."

"The people of Lindon know all about him," scoffed Círdan, shaking his head. "Does it not strike you as ominous that you, so much like Elros whom he loved, have come here at a time when Maglor is near his breaking point? I do not want you involved with him, Elladan. I do not want that on my conscience."

"Involved! How can you even suggest that?" Elladan was indignant, yet at the same time tingling warmth swept through him and conversely he shivered. Dark colour stained his ears and cheeks as he saw that Círdan noticed, the ellon's frown deeply disapproving. To shift attention from himself, he attacked. "There would be no cause to worry over me or anyone else if you sent him away, as the Law prescribes. Maglor is a kin-slayer, banished for all time from the company of those he betrayed so cruelly."

Now Círdan's cheeks darkened with anger but he held it in check, searing the younger elf with his glare until Elladan dropped his gaze to the floor. "You do right to look away, for you have over-reached your place in giving censure to me," said the ancient sea-elf. "Who says Maglor was banished? Where is that writ filed that I might seek to peruse its precepts and conditions? Well?" he demanded quietly, nodding as now Elladan's face suffused with scarlet. "You do not know, not because you have forgotten or were never told, but because that is but a tale, nothing more than myth and rumour. There is no ban upon Maglor. I could host him here in my own home should I so choose."

"Forgive me, Hîren, for my unjust accusation," murmured Elladan humbly.

"Think of it no more," answered Círdan kindly, rising to stand beside Elladan and look into his eyes. "You are not the first to make that error, nor is it likely the rumour will ever change. in truth, the banishment is of his own design. Maglor cannot forgive himself and so he shuns his kith and kin, yet neither can he summon courage to sail the sea and face the judgement of Manwë."

"Why does he linger in Lindon? Is it because Himling reminds him of his brother and of former days?"

"More than that, he dwells on Himling in the ruins there. It is all that remains of Beleriand that he can recognise. He had a family once and was happy for long centuries, when the Oath was quiet." Círdan fell silent and his gaze turned inward for a time, then he frowned and shook his head. "Nay, I do not want you to develop any sympathy for him, Elladan. Down that road lies the danger of which you have been warned. I see its spark in you, this compassion that is such a credit to your heart and soul, but it will be the agent of great strife for you if allowed to kindle, blossoming into the heat of desire and devotion."

"I assure you, Hîren, that I will do nothing so unseemly," Elladan croaked out awkwardly, hardly believing this must be spoken aloud. What sort of morals did the old elf think he possessed?

"Enough!" Círdan cut his hand sharply through the air and Elladan jumped. "This is neither Imladris nor Lothlorien. I do not place such unjust conditions upon my citizens, ordaining who is acceptable for them to love or not love. I do not care that you feel desire only for your own sex, Elladan. I fear for your feä, henellon, nothing less." He gripped Elladan at the biceps of either arm and forced him to meet his eyes. "I want you to leave Lindon. Today. Now. Enerdhil will serve on the council with no difficulty. It is clear to me you were brought here to be used, your good and compassionate heart, your uncanny resemblance, your repressed needs, all brought to bear on this unfortunate Noldorin Prince of old. Ossë means nothing less than to put you in Elros' place, to make you a substitute and thus to salvage Maglor from fading away at last."

Elladan gaped in speechless stupefaction. No one had ever spoken to him so bluntly. Even with Elrohir he'd never openly articulated his desires, save once, and that had been disastrous. In one sense it was a great relief to hear such hungers mentioned as commonplace and unimportant, except that clearly they were neither, not to him. On the other hand, it hurt his pride to learn that Círdan believed he could be so easily manipulated. How could Ossë force him to love Maglor? It was impossible and so in Elladan's mind this point resolved to one of negative perception, for obviously the ancient ruler must think him so dissolute as to engage in such carnal acts without the benefit of a true and abiding bond. He hardened the hurt into offended dignity and drew apart.

"I am sorry you believe me to be so inadequate. I can only tell you I would never undertake such a pretence with anyone, much less an elf almost broken in madness and despair. I will gather my belongings and depart within the hour." He bowed with crisp formality and returned to his quarters, glad beyond words to find Enerdhil absent, for to explain any of this to that elf would be far beyond the limit of his frayed nerves.

As for Círdan, he regretted his sharp words but would regret more should Elladan fall into Ossë's clutches. It was a near miss, too near, and he should never have agreed to let the boy come to Lindon at all. Even as he thought this, the sea-spirit materialised beside him.

"Do not be so glum, mellon iaur," he said. "You kept your vow and spared the young lord's heart a cruel blow. Well done! What difference if he thinks of you with hostility and aversion in the years ahead?"

"No difference, mellon iaur," nodded Nowë. "I thank you for holding to your promise. We must find another way to help Maglor."

"There is always his son to come and take his place."

"No! That shall not come to pass and even Ulmo has agreed it is right to spare him. My vow to aid this cause does not include extending the obligation to anyone else. The Oath has run its course; let not the last of the Noldorin Princes be punished, for he never spoke those heinous words nor raised sword against his own."

"Yes, yes, I am aware," placated Ossë. "Truly, I was only joking."

"That is a poor jest!" barked Círdan. He was agitated now and paced across the terrace and back, twisting the long silver strands of his beard in frustration. "There must be a way to reach Maglor; we cannot have come this far only to fail. Or perhaps someone else can take over his task. Maybe among the Avari lies our hope."

"I have already tried, Nowë, without success. The last was consumed so quickly; really, their spirits are too willing. Still, if it will ease your spirit I will make another attempt," sighed Ossë.

"It would," admitted Círdan.

"Then I shall go at once," smiled Ossë, his expression benign and filled with friendship ere he vanished, for truly he did love the old elf.

Besides, Círdan's words were so often prophetic, even when he did not mean them to be. Among the Avari lay their hope, for there he would find a willing confederate to lure Elladan away from his homeward journey, and there within the shelter of the pristine woods the water-god would hold his promised meeting with the young Imladrian Lord this night instead of on the morrow's.


	5. Part Five: Maglor

### ~ Part Five: Maglor ~

_'I thus remain in the shadow of Ered Lhuin, muindor laes, and beg you will keep my secret. There is something I must do here ere I return home, or even come again to Nenuial and your fair realm. You know why I was sent away; let me resolve my unseemly and petty jealousy in solitude where I will not embarrass myself and my parents with my petulance and whining._

_'Yet it isn't only that. At home I am redundant; here I am needed so desperately I fear to fail. Let me have this achievement to carry back with me when I do return, for it fills me with pride to know I can be of such import to someone. More I cannot relate, for it is not right for me to disclose to you what was shared with me in confidence. Know that I have the support of a powerful ally and will want for nothing, so there is no need to send me stores or clothing or other essentials._

_'You were right about the sea and I am learning to sail it. Once cutting through its wondrous expanse, all worries and woes are forgotten. When all this is settled, I hope to invite you down for a visit. Not an official visit, I promise you will not have to sit in council with Hîr Círdan. We will hike and hunt and spear great fish in the deeps._

_'I will write again when I have more news to share. For now, I expect to stay in Lindon for at least a year. Be well and tell Tarcil that if he does not learn appropriate manners, you will send him to live among the Avari folk who will cure him of his haughty ways in a trice._

_'With affection,  
Elladan_

Arantar set aside the letter with a brief sigh of dismay. He had not thought to receive such a missive and was not sure he felt right maintaining this deception. It was all so mysterious, yet within the words and between the lines there was real joy in Elladan's script. And he was fully grown, after all, and not a child. What would he think if the King of Arnor sent a contingent of soldiers to check up on him? Oh, there was no mystery about that at all; Elladan would never forgive him. Still, Arantar didn't like the lying and the sneaking and those were not behaviours he was used to associating with Elrond's sons.

The King stood from his desk and picked up the letter from his muindor iaur, carrying it to the hearth where the fire blazed. With but a second of hesitation, he tossed it in, watching as the parchment curled and browned and a tiny lick of fire caught on the edge. Abruptly he tore aside the screen and snatched the it back, beating out the flame and pressing it flat. He couldn't really say why, but Arantar thought he should keep this communication from Elladan. There was something besides happiness peeking through the guarded words; there was uncertainty, apprehension.

Arantar frowned; perhaps not apprehension but something very close to it. Whatever Elladan was involved in, it was not the kind of activity with which he was familiar. With that thought, the King hastened back to his desk and penned a reply, for the Avarin messenger who'd carried Elladan's communiqué waited in the antechamber for an answer. In it, he urged Elladan to abandon whatever venture he had undertaken and return to spend the summer at Annúminas in truth.

Even as he handed it off, Arantar had little hope his request would be favourably received. That being the case, he immediately wrote another missive, this one addressed to the only elf he could think of whose help he could elicit without breaking faith with his foster brother. He could not notify Elrohir, that was out of the question, and to warn Elrond and Celebrian of their son's situation, when there might not really be any situation at all, would surely embarrass the young lord and decrease his self-confidence. Thus, Arantar sent his plea by his swiftest messenger to Greenwood, there to place it in the hands of Lord Erestor, kinsman of Lord Elrond and the twins' former mentor.

By design, no one besides Arantar knew where Elladan was. In Imladris, everyone believed he was visiting Annúminas, having been relieved of his obligations on Círdan's council. In Mithlond everyone believed this, too, for Círdan had received confirmation to that effect from Elrond, who had learned of it from Elladan's own missive, which was dutifully carried home by the guards who had accompanied his son to Lindon.

They had parted from him in the Hills of Twilight, he assuring his unsuspecting captain that the warriors need not fear to leave him in the care of Arantar's soldiers and doughty Rangers. The ruse was unlikely to be discovered for weeks, perhaps even months, but for the King's intuition. Yet even with his interference, even if Erestor could abandon the pressing mission in Greenwood and come straight away, by the time he arrived Elladan would be too deeply involved to pull back. Indeed, four months had already passed since his stop over at Annúminas.

Ossë's plot was secure, the Maia having seen through these permutations and compensated for them.

Luring him back had been so simple and easy. Ossë sent a short message which reached Elladan's small entourage as it neared Emmyn Uial. The words within it were mocking and derisive, berating him for running away rather than face his promised debate with Ossë. Packed with scorn for one who would so quickly break his word, it was enough to raise Elladan's wrath and make his conscience smart. He would not permit such a damning characterisation to be boasted about the Falas, dishonouring his family, his father, and their House by association. He would keep his appointment with the arrogant Maia and then go on his way. Let him say what he would, there was nothing holding Elladan here, much less some grim and inescapable fate.

All this Ossë predicted and Elladan did not disappoint him.

Really there was no reason for the scheme to fail unless Elladan himself suddenly changed his mind and left. That, he knew, was no longer a threat, not that it had ever been in the first place. Once Elladan was confronted with Maglor the second time, he was hooked as surely as any sailfish. Ossë hadn't needed to do any convincing at all, Maglor and his harp had achieved it all by himself, and Elladan had gone willingly with him.

  
Elladan kept his assignation clandestine, though the reasons he would permit himself to advance for this stealth were pure self-deceit. As yet, he could not admit his fascination, the desire to feel again such passionate desire, such overwhelming love. To have someone speak his name as Maglor had spoken Elros', this he wanted and he wanted it from Maglor. What he permitted himself to believe was that he was curious, intrigued to find the notorious elf still alive and eager to learn about the years his father and uncle had spent with him. Obviously, there was much Elrond had hoped never to have him learn, the torrid affair foremost among them, and Elladan had no desire to worry or upset his parents. Thus he justified his covert withdrawal, enlisted Arantar as a confederate, lied to his loyal captain, and sent his warriors home to Imladris where they would legitimise the falsehood.

The Avarin messenger was waiting for him as he crossed Nan Lhûn and led him through a little known pass over Ered Lhuin directly into the woodland holdings of the feral elves. There the guide slipped away, melting into the dense trees with the ease that marked all the silvan folk, regardless the region where they dwelled. Alone, Elladan kept his wits for the first few hours, convinced Ossë would make his appearance or the guide would return. An edge of apprehension tinged his thoughts as the sun began to set and no sign of anyone, elf or otherwise, appeared. Realising he must spend the dark hours alone in the unknown wood he did as he'd been taught by his grandfather: shimmied up a tree and hunkered against the trunk to wait for light, though Orcs were not known in this region of Arda. The night was silent and still, but he did not sleep.

Cramped, thirsty, and disgruntled, dawn saw him navigating with greater purpose and precision, planning to abandon the adventure as the Maia was obviously toying with him and the Avarin elves were surely having a fine laugh at his expense. Even as he mentally cursed them all, even as the mists rose from the warming ground, the sweet music of a harp and that fair masculine voice drifted with the ephemeral fog, swirling about his body and enticing him to seek for the musician. He forgot his irritation and at once set his feet in the direction of the wondrous sound.

"Enchanting, is it not?"

The question brought him up short. Ossë appeared just ahead and to his left, leaning in casual disregard against the trunk of a tree, inexplicably sporting the form and garb of one the Avarin elves. Elladan wondered for a second if his guide had really been Ossë all along. The Maia smirked and tossed his tawny mane coquettishly, smiling at Elladan coyly from the corners of his almond eyes, just as if he heard those thoughts, and Elladan frowned.

"Maglor sings as no other has before or since. It is as if the very Music of creation finds in him a perfect source of resonance, would you not agree?" Ossë repeated his observation.

"I do not dispute you; he is the greatest minstrel elf-kind has ever produced," said Elladan testily. "Why do you play at these jests? I returned in good faith only to be deserted as soon as we entered the forest."

"Which implies that those singers of other races might be better at it?" Ossë ignored the elf's outburst. "I cannot deny the truth in that. It is said Melian's voice held Thingol spellbound for untold years. Somehow, I doubt they spent all that time singing," he simpered and joined his reluctant protégé on the path. "There is something about elf-kind that fascinates and enthrals those of my race," he confided, reaching for Elladan's arm and drawing him into motion.

"How do you mean?" Elladan was intrigued in spite of his distrust and let his aggravation be appeased. They were at least moving in the direction of the mesmerising voice and soon must discover the singer himself. He did not question how much he desired to see Maglor again; it seemed perfectly natural.

"We cannot seem to remain apart from elves. Unlike the Powers, the Valarindi are drawn to the complexity, the conflicting emotions, the passion and the intensity of their fiery spirits. You don't think Melian was singing in those woods by accident, do you?" he laughed, a nudge with his elbow against Elladan's side underscoring his meaning. "You have much of the Maiar in you, Elladan."

That made him halt on the path and he shook free of Ossë. "That is the second time you've said so," he noted. "Even if it is true, why do you make such a point of it?"

"I'm merely indicating that you're interest in Maglor is easily explained. You seemed so adamant in your condemnation of him yesterday I thought you might be feeling conflicted over your attraction."

"I am not attracted to him," denied Elladan. "I want to understand him and his place in my history. Obviously, there is a very close and intimate connection."

"Aye, he loved Elros as he loved no other, not even his wife and son claimed as much of his heart and soul as did your uncle. The pain of the loss consumes him. Can you imagine what that must be like, never to be reunited with his beloved in this world or any other? I do not want him to fade, Elladan. Even should he go to Mandos, how could he be healed when his heart-mate is eternally severed from him?"

To this Elladan gave no answer, for it was hard to imagine anyone preferring a lover, no matter how beguiling, to a child of their body. Surely Maglor did not shun his wife and child to pursue Elros. Yet these were the unknowns he was so interested to learn. Beyond that, Ossë broached a distressing scenario, though it was difficult to believe the vain and crafty Maia really cared for Maglor's ultimate fate.

"What do you want?" he demanded, suddenly weary of the game, eager to know what it was about and get on with his journey.

"I thought I made that clear," mused Ossë, face composed in perplexity as he looked upon Elladan. "I want you to keep him from fading."

"I am no healer," snapped Elladan, "and even if I were, the soul is not amenable to cures of that type. Better to let him fade and place him under the care of Estë."

"No, no that will never do," Ossë shook his head. "My plan is much simpler. He believes you are Elros, so then be Elros."

"Círdan warned me you would propose this." Elladan stepped back from him warily, uncomfortable both with the idea and the surge of excitement it precipitated through him. "I would never seek to achieve a union with anyone under such false pretences. Sooner or later the truth must come out and then far greater harm wold be inflicted upon Maglor."

"So you care about that already," mused Ossë, gradually dissolving into his more usual, and formidable, physical presence. "Thus, you've answered your own concern. There is nothing false about your interest in him, Elladan, and no need to bind your soul to his eternally. You can easily play this part and simply being near you will ease Maglor's spirit sufficiently to suspend and perhaps even reverse the grieving sickness."

"Yet I am not Elros and do not love him. Surely when he understands the trickery played on his ailing heart he will be devastated. I thought you claimed to be his friend! If I had means, I would have you hauled before the High Court in Ilmarin for such cruelty."

"Still in a mood for judgements, I see," drawled Ossë, shaking his head in mock despondency. "I must then be grateful that you have no such power, Elladan of Imladris. Yet perhaps I would not be the one censured, could we both go there and have your charges set before Manwë."

"Easy to claim such, as it will be many long centuries before I find myself in Aman," retorted Elladan in scathing derision. "You remain here in Arda because you are nothing over there where greater powers, greater minds hold sway over the High Elves and the lands granted to them. Look at you, toying with the heart of a broken elf who cannot defend himself! You are despicable."

"Do not test my patience, henellon!" Ossë found himself reduced to ineffectual anger in this irritating elf's presence and could not suppress a writhing flare of white fire from leaving his hands and spinning out toward the ellon. Just as it must engulf Elladan, a light hearted giggle preceded the arrival of Uinan, who deftly captured the searing flameless light in her veil, releasing it transformed into a great cloud of blinking fireflies instead.

These did swarm about Elladan and he waved and swatted his arms about to clear the insects from his face. When they fluttered away he saw the water maiden bending an indulgent but chiding stare upon her husband, to which Ossë frowned and pulled an expression at once mulish and sheepish. With a glittering glance in Elladan's direction, somehow imbued with flagrant lust that, for all its brevity, ignited his passion to a painful and confusing degree, as he had no interest in females, Uinan left them.

"Well, we have both been duly chastened," complained Ossë, hands on hips as he gauged Elladan's state of mind, snickering as his gaze travelled to the pointed evidence of the elf's punishment bulging from his groin. "She is wicked, is she not?"

"I will not do this," said Elladan firmly, ignoring as best he could his uncomfortable state of arousal. Ossë's figure thinned and dissolved and in seconds he was gone. "I will not do this!" Elladan shouted, face lifted skyward as he turned a revolution in place, but instead of the Maia's voice his answer came in the abrupt cessation of the fair minstrel's song.

At once Elladan cursed his foolishness, fearing to have frightened off the skittish legend, only to be delighted when the music resumed, the tune now couched in winsome notes decorated with sensual undertones, undoubtedly a suitor's song. Elladan's pulse increased and he moved forward into the beckoning call, into a bright sun-sparkled glade so far removed from the austere landscape of the forbidding falas that he might still be at Nenuial.

Here he paused, though Maglor was not there, waiting, unconscious of the silent call he was sending, unsurprised when it drew the minstrel unerringly to him. Touched by dappled light that teased, now revealing, now obscuring him, the tall Noldorin prince strolled through the bolls. When he came full into the clearing he drew a triumphant arpeggio on the bright mithril strands, smiling as he breathed out the last of the lyrics and fell silent.

The gaze he cast over Elladan was both tender with unexpected joy and hungry with unhidden desire. His eyes lingered on the tell-tale bulge but he made no other reference to it. He bowed, elegant and regal, comfortable with his status and renown, assured of his alluring appeal and glad to bring it to bear on the one he most wished to impress. His hair fell gracefully forward and his open tunic gaped, allowing a view of creamy, naked skin. Straightening, he smiled more gladly still, finding Elladan's eyes upon his breast, and swept back the luxuriant locks.

"Mae govannen, scion of Eärendil. Hîr Ossë informed me of your sudden departure and I at once insisted he attempt to defer that exodus. I am concerned that my impetuous action offended you, precipitating your move to quit the fair shores of Lindon. Please, allow me to offer my humblest apologies."

How his grey eyes gleamed, so filled with silent pleading and anguished expectation. Elladan could see the warring emotions' ebb and flow within them, first assured he would be forgiven, next certain he would be spurned and reviled. He found he had not the heart to crush this elf's faint and flickering hope. He bowed as well, hand over his heart.

"Nay, I was surprised but not offended. I leave because my business in Lindon concluded earlier than I first imagined, nothing more," he said kindly, a smile on his lips as he took the extended hand, feeling for the first time the calluses wrought by Ages of plucking melodies from mithril strings.

"I thank you for those words," gushed Maglor, gripping the hand tightly, possessively, leading Elladan into the heart of the glade. "Hîr Ossë explained to me how it is now. Being renewed and remade, you are truly brand new and have no memories of me or our life together. I will not presume to understand it, yet I am gladdened that you are here. See, even though you remember nothing, your heart has led you to me again."

Elladan blushed, finding these words pleased him greatly, yet still determined to correct this bizarre notion at once. "Hîren, that is not"

"Hîren? Nay, we are equals, Elros."

"I cannot see it so, yet what I meant was that Ossë has misled you. I am not"

"Nay, nay, you need not say it," Maglor interrupted, voice chagrined and apologetic. He covered the hand he held with other, a protective blanket of reassuring warmth. "I do not mean to be forward. Yet I know your heart will choose me again as it did before, if you would grant me the chance to touch it." And he did, laying his hand over Elladan's chest lightly, a soft caress that knew right where to find the nipple and there apply greater pressure before retreating in the wake of a startled gasp.

"I cannot allow you to continue under this mistake." Elladan's heart was racing and the tingling fire ignited by that simple contact stunned him. "My identity is not as you suppose, Hîren," He stepped a bit apart yet simultaneously gripped the fingers holding his the tighter. That touch had felt more intimate than the stolen kiss. "I am not Elros."

"Oh, I know you are uncomfortable with that name and the destiny behind it. You will have a new life now and have taken a new name. Be not alarmed; I know what you are called. A most fitting name, Elf-man, considering all that came to pass, yet Elros will you always be to me."

"Nay, Hîren, this must stop now!" gasped Elladan, not certain he could maintain his stand under the compelling, possessive gaze trained upon him so intently.

"Ah! Call me Maglor, pen vain," the singer made a mock frown, eyes glimmering with amusement. "Call me Maglor and I promise not to call you Elros, agreed?"

"Maglor," Elladan said his name as if for the first time, confusion enveloping him for it was not so. He lost his train of thought, contemplating how the sound of the syllables lingered in his mind, reverberating within his heart in a way that was at once frightening and fascinating. "Maglor." He smiled suddenly.

"Aye. It is a grand name when you speak it," the singer smiled and dismissed it with a self-deprecating wave of his hand. "It hasn't any clever meaning as yours does. Cleaver of Gold. What is it supposed to signify? I cannot understand what my naneth was thinking."

Elladan laughed lightly, hearing him disparage his name so lightly. "Surely you are permitted to choose another."

"Why, does it displease you?"

"Nay, not so," Elladan stammered. "I did not mean to imply that."

"Ai! I am not hurt or angry. If that name offends you, with all the past wrapped up in it, I would gladly have another. What name would you give me?"

"Oh, I" Elladan faltered, unsure what to suggest, but the great singer was gazing at him with such interest, such expectation. He grappled for something appropriate and spoke the first words that presented themselves. "Oma Alcarin. (Magnificent Voice)"

"You are too generous," Maglor bowed, his smile radiant and his eyes glinting with obvious pleasure. "I am flattered."

"No, it is the simple truth," insisted Elladan, "but I prefer Maglor. I am comfortable calling you that." And he found that he was.

"Then Maglor I shall be and you," he cradled his harp and strolled, making a circuit around Elladan, striking seemingly random chords that somehow defined the peculiar duality of their encounter, the melody demure yet abounding in familiarity and electrified with undertones of desire. "You shall be called just as you have chosen: Elladan."

"Well, that is my mother-name," admitted Elladan. "I confess I never considered anything else, but with you I thinkI think it would be all right if you wish to call me something else." He almost said 'Elros' and stopped himself in time, stumbling only a little over the error, torn over hearing his own name used to refer to his long-dead uncle whom Maglor now believed to be restored to the life of the eldar. Elladan was truly shocked at his inexplicable willingness to play along with Ossë's unscrupulous deception. Yet he he had no wish to see this remarkable ellon suffer, nor could he deny the desire to bring him happiness.

"This distresses you," said Maglor, silencing the harp and coming back close, gently settling his palm against Elladan's cheek. "I cannot begin to imagine what confusion this experience holds for you."

Elladan's eyes went wide as he stared into the minstrel's compelling grey depths. He could not find words, for this was a most fitting description of his roiling thoughts and emotions. The sensation of the hand upon his face was thrilling and it was hard to think past it. Suddenly the comforting touch vanished and Maglor passed his fingers lightly over his hair, taking up a slender lock and testing its texture between finger and thumb.

"So much as you were before, it amazes me. Yet there are differences, as one would expect, for the hroa is new." He passed a speculative, devouring look over Elladan's form, a wolfish smile playing at his lips, but when he met the younger elf's gaze again it was with an understanding smile. He let go the glossy tresses. "Permit me to give you a name, pen vain. (lovely one)"

"But you do not know me," Elladan struggled to say, finding the words made him inexplicably sad.

"True enough," Maglor dipped his head in assent. "Then permit me the chance to know you. Grant me the opportunity to win you, that is all I ask. If I cannot bind your heart to me within a year's trying, then I will ask nothing more of you, now or ever, and bid you find happiness and contentment where you may," proposed the stately ellon, plucking another suggestive chord from the harp that might as easily have been wrung from the strings of his heart. He began to play again in earnest, the melody majestic, mysterious, mesmerising.

His music flowed within the molecules of air and danced amid the beams of light, spinning its subtle web round his quarry. The glade vibrated with its lilting strains and then Maglor began to sing as well.

The lyrics evoked the quiet beauty of endless starry nights and the bold, daring glare of the first sunrise. He sang of his family, of Beleriand, the gilded notes gliding through aeons of time, building up castles, alliances, and hidden kingdoms where valour and honour were prized above any riches, any wealth. Truth could not hide from his voice yet revealed within its liquid tones lost its sharp and sour fruits, presenting only the blossom and its sweet scent so that somehow there was a truth occult within truth known, and this the song laid bare.

Through all of it a single theme persisted, building so gradually its full chorus broke through with sudden, unbidden glory, a triumphant crescendo that took Elladan's breath away, for this marked the end of the First Age and the beginning of Elros and Maglor. The music became intimate and yet playful, undemanding and easy to hear, filled with the vibrant chords of a deep, abiding passion; a timeless, incorruptible love.

Elladan thought he might lose his mind, his heart, his senses, or all three. His self-concept wavered, bending and stretching as needed, fitting itself to match the person celebrated in those enchanting strains, called into being by the beguiling voice and the masterful presence who knew him so very well. Every note, every trembling overtone, every pause for breath, every part of the song was about him. Disorientation overwhelmed his thoughts, for that could not be possible, though every nerve in his body sang in silent joy for the caress of the music thrumming through him.

_~Nay, he sings of Elros.~_

He almost sobbed when the singing abruptly stopped, but Maglor turned to him smiling, pain and sorrow mixed with the happiness in the expression.

"I have been singing of you for nearly four thousand years," he said, "yet each time the song is new and gives me something more, something fresh and surprising. Aye, this is my truth: all that has been since the Time before Time, all of it happened to bring into being you, Elros. You, my Elf-man."

With that he bent forward and softly kissed the stricken elf, just the faintest pressure of lips touching lips, the barest caress of his tongue against firm supple flesh, and then retreat. He began the song again, strolling away and out of the glade, and Elladan followed.

  
Time passed in the woods of Himling Cove as if the place existed in an entirely separate world from the rest of Lindon. The sun rose and set, Ithil tracked the skies on his wandering route, yet none of it happened in the prescribed manner set forth by the Valar. Everything was fluid and yet stasis reigned. Arien lingered and a single day would go on until three normal days could fit within the same span of hours. Other times Tilion refused to relinquish the heavens, keeping the sky dark and filled with the silver light of the stars so long that the woods and the fair glade resembled the lands first seen and loved by the First-born. Thus it seemed to the courting elves.

In this wondrous, separate reality Elladan and Maglor remained, oblivious to both the outside world and the unique distance from it they had achieved. It was as if the music of Maglor created a whole new place in which the world was theirs to define, to mould. History did not exist; the future had no meaning; the present was the only valid construct in which to move and act.

Surely it was Maglor's music that wrought this unusual circumstance, Ossë's presence and interference long forgotten.

Yet, alone his song could bring about nothing beyond the confines of his sorrowful remembrance of what was long past, dead, turned to dust. With Elladan beside him, the theme changed and his gift blossomed and thrived, snatching hold of ambient motifs and phrases adrift in the swirling eddies of the Great Song, owning and transmuting them, both creating and celebrating the bond growing between them. His art was mastery of this vital energetic ether, this raw essence, and he coaxed it into the matter and marrow of Elladan's soul.

Indeed, he wilfully meant to ensnare his love and keep him captive, yet there was nothing of malice in that desire nor a craving to reduce his chosen one to servitude or thraldom. He wanted to be chosen as well, freely and with joy, by this elf that was so much the same and yet so very different from the Elros he remembered. Thus, and gradually, slowly, with the same wistful pace in which leaves unfurled and buds came to flower, he altered both his perception of Elladan and Elladan's perception of him, and each one's perception of himself. Elladan was not Elros, yet came closer to him in thought and feeling with every dawn's arrival, and if Maglor could not shed his past entirely, it receded, becoming a hidden hurt, a mere scar that no longer gave him pain.

The plot succeeded beyond Ossë's hopes; Maglor's broken soul was re-knit and his faltering mind began to clear.

Elladan was happy. Surely he had felt glad of heart before now, but never had it been such an encompassing experience, such a defining characteristic of his every waking moment. This, then, was love and he could not longer fault Elrohir for forsaking all to secure it for himself. Stretched on the cushioning grass of the sunny glade, he turned his eyes to the source of his joy and smiled. Maglor was lost in his music again, curled around the harp with loving familiarity like a lover's sinuous possession of his mate, eyes closed, brow furrowed as he worked the strings with concentrated design. It was fascinating to watch him thus, creating new music from nothingness, filling the air with it, imbuing it with so much of his soul that it seemed alive in itself, and yet he was conscious of a strong pang of displeasure, a desire to grab the gilded instrument from his arms and cast it far from here, for he would have Maglor tender such devotion to him instead. At once the music stopped and wide grey eyes turned to regard him with amused pleasure.

"You've no need to feel jealous; it's to your song I give such ardent attention," he said, joining Elladan, reclining beside him so that they were facing one another on the green sward.

They were both naked, had been so for hours or days or months, neither knew for certain anymore, neither cared to know. Maglor dipped his hand into the silky ebony tresses and combed through, drawing the hair out and watching as it fell away back to rest on the pale, bare chest. He caressed a shoulder, squeezing lightly, admiring the firm strength of the muscles there, smiling as Elladan sighed and rolled to his back. Maglor scooted closer, claimed lips that opened hungrily, teased a dark nipple into a voluptuous, pointed peak. Elladan groaned down his throat and he ended the kiss to sample the result of his efforts. With erotic impulse the lithe body arched to fill his mouth with the delectable titbit. Now it was Maglor's voice giving forth a lusty moan as he lapped and suckled, arm encircling to keep the warm flesh right where he wished.

"Maglor, saes," whimpered Elladan and the tantalising, maddening stimulation ceased. For a brief second the compelling grey eyes regarded him, joyful, triumphant, but only in passing as the minstrel was on his way to nibble the sensitive tips of his ears. "Ai!" Elladan writhed beneath the delicious sensation, eagerly pressing his groin and its blatant erection against the lean hard belly. His penis faintly brushed its counterpart and he yelped, bucking against it even as Maglor growled and bore down, rocking and rubbing them together.

His lips left the ear he was tasting and heavy gusty breaths blew across its wet, hot tip. "Is this better?" he whispered and shifted, suddenly and forcefully tilting Elladan's head, exposing his neck, licking at the beating pulse there, biting down into the pliant flesh. He cried out in surprise and then laughed as incisors sank into the skin of his arm. "Pen ogol, pen vraig!" he exclaimed, meeting Elladan's fiery gaze with glowing pride and glad delight.

He moved again, sliding off the enticing body and propping himself on his elbow, so to relish the vision of perfection sprawled before him. He ran a loving hand over firm pectorals, deftly thumbing a nipple as he went, planed down a hard, flat abdomen, and slid his fingers beneath the rigid maroon organ, ignoring it as he delved the tiny, inward fold of the navel. The muscles beneath his hand twitched and the long, sinewy thighs fidgeted in the grass. He moved to caress one, sitting up to do it, and bent over the recumbent form to kiss the tender, inner skin, smiling as the leg moved and lifted, eagerly prompting him to settle between them. Instead, he settled on his side, glancing back as Elladan shifted also, bringing himself in line with the singer's genitals.

They shared a smile and together fell to pleasuring one another, mouths and tongues bathing, caressing, and suckling cocks, hands alternately soothing trembling flesh and palming tight, sensitive sacs. Maglor probed for entrance to Elladan's anus and as was their habit, Elladan copied his every move. Deep and slow, fingers stroked hidden glands to burning excitation and they came together, quiet grunts and groans of delight accompanying the urgent efforts to consume the precious vital fluids. Separating, they shared another grin and mutually moved to lie close in one another's arms, hearts still racing, bodies still humming with the delicious culmination of their new love. Maglor wriggled himself into the dominant position, protectively cuddling Elladan against his chest, and softly stroked the magnificent midnight mane.

"If only I truly could compose music so glorious, so compelling as you," he murmured, letting his fingers drift away over his beloved's exposed back. He lingered over a rough place on the scapula, a puffy scar. "This one is new," he said, "part of your life I know nothing about. How did you come by it?"

"Oh, 'twas nothing," assured Elladan, smiling as his skin tingled under Maglor's touch. "We were involved in a skirmish near the borders of Rhudaur. For a moment I was surrounded, three Orcs hoping to bring me down, but it was not to be. We defeated them, but I was nicked and the blade was poisoned, so it took some time to heal. The scar reminds me to be more cautious and mind my whereabouts in battle."

"We?"

"Yes, my brother and I were on patrol and"

"Elrond? You dwelled with him in Imladris?"

Maglor sounded surprised, even stunned. Elladan lifted his head and met unsettled eyes.

"Aye, Imladris is my home, or was before now." Uneasiness coiled in his stomach as he uttered this simple reply, for while it was mostly the truth there was only deceit within it.

"And now? Will you leave here and resume your life at your brother's side?" Maglor stared intently, a bright pinpoint of fear lighting the depths of his troubled gaze. Something was wrong, something he couldn't name but only feel, and he struggled to subdue it, drive it from his heart. He did not want to invite sorrow here, not here where he had love and light and infinite joy.

"Now my home is here, or rather, my home is you. Wherever you are, wherever you reside, that is my place also," said Elladan, rising enough to kiss the legendary singer, savouring the tangy remnant of his own release.

He did not want to talk about his life in Imladris, for that meant he must lie and his soul smarted already from the deception crafted thus far. Yet he could not think it was wrong, such happiness as this, and if an anxious conscience was the price for it than he would pay it without complaint. Abruptly he severed the connection, his desire renewed and his penis filling, and flashed a smile of wanton allure as he rolled free and settled on his back, feet planted flat, knees bent and splayed wide.

"Make love to me," he said, quietly pleading.

Maglor grinned as he sat up and sidled between those parted thighs. He fisted the heavy organ and slowly pumped, watching as Elladan's pupils dilated and the muscles in his loins tensed.

"You feel ready to offer me your body?"

"I am. It is yours," Elladan gasped out, meeting the sultry stare with frenzied anticipation. "Take it; take me."

"So demanding," Maglor's voice was husky with lust and his eyes were locked on the cock in his grasp. He squeezed it tight and simultaneously rolled the tender balls against its root. The sound Elladan made was unbelievably erotic, a cry of desire, fear, and urgent need. "But it is too soon. What you ask would seal us for all time, since you have chosen the life of the eldar."

He continued to stroke the weeping shaft, thumbing the slick secretions to help lubricate his grip, and softly began to sing, lulling Elladan into a purely somatic state of pleasurable sensation. He enjoyed doing this for Elladan, loved watching the long, hot penis spurting warm, white seed as the hips lunged from the ground and thrust into his hand. It didn't take long and when it was done, Elladan slipped into reverie, a natural consequence of the beguiling song, and Maglor cleaned him and his hand before taking up the harp once more.

Watching Elladan sleep, eyes half-lidded and fogged with dreams, he embellished the tune he'd been crafting, finding the element he'd been lacking in the quiet vow of constancy this most amazing elf had just proclaimed to him. Maglor smiled and the song became a hymn of joy and thanksgiving which he offered on the breeze for the Powers to discover.

  
Elladan sat on the simple wooden bench placed on the small covered porch of the sea-stone cottage, watching in quiet enamouration as Maglor sang for him. It was a new song, as all his songs were now, witty and bright with vaguely ribald lyrics and a sprightly melody in a range even Elladan could manage. Before long he was joining on the chorus, which pleased Maglor so much he came and kissed him right in the middle of a stanza, missing not a single syllable in the process. The ditty ended with a predictably amusing aphorism and they laughed.

"I like that one," beamed Elladan. "What a comedic scene, the amorous suitor over-tipping the boat just at the crucial moment."

"Oh it was, it was," chortled Maglor, then he sobered. "You do not remember."

"What?" Elladan stiffened, simultaneously slouching back in his seat, for here was a scenario he had often dreaded would occur. "You mean that was real? That happened?"

"Aye." Maglor sighed and sat beside him, regretting he had tried to stir Elros' mind and make him recall their former days. He knew this was upsetting to his beloved; why must he push him so? "Ai, forgive me. I am an ungrateful wretch," he said sadly. "I have been granted a gift of such magnitude none can compare, yet I only hope for more instead of cherishing you."

"Nay, nay," Elladan assured, instantly taking his hand. "It is natural for you to want that, to link the past with what we have now. I only regret I can never give it to you. There is only me, as I am, and nothing more." He spoke the words kindly but there was no hiding their bitter undertone.

"I am truly sorry." Maglor was and wished fervently he could remove that faint yet damning look of sorrow in Elladan's eyes.

"Nay, let us not dwell on this," sighed Elladan, but he could not quite manage to root out the discontent growing in his mind. Maglor, when all was said and done, did not love him at all, but the phantom he represented. He sighed again and curled in on himself, subtly drawing away from the glorious singer.

"I do love you, only you. Please, I cannot help my own memories, but I see you here and now. I love you, here and now." Maglor implored, trying to meet the averted eyes and failing. Tentatively he touched the hunched shoulder. "Elladan?" The face he so loved came around at once but the eyes, so magnificently expressive, were awash with gathering tears.

"If that is true," his voice caught and he faltered, for what he would say was painful and speaking it aloud might give a truth to the idea that he desperately wished to avoid. He inhaled and made himself continue. Better to know now what he faced, what hopeless future his heart had led him to accept. "Why do you not want to join with me? You say it is too soon, but to me it feels we have been together for centuries. Is it not so for you? I would willingly bind my soul to yours yet you reject" He was silenced as callused fingers sealed over his lips, the minstrel looming close, dark eyes wild in torment and fear.

"Don't say those words," he hissed. "They are not true, they are _not_!" He removed his hand and caressed the supple cheek. "I do not reject anything about you," he insisted. "You are wondrous and the joy of my soul, the life of my heart. Yet I am older and know of these things better than you. I am to be your first, in this life just as in your last. I want it to be right, to be perfect. I want no regrets to follow after when your heart is no longer free as it is now."

"My heart is not free; I have given it to you. All that is left is to give you the rest. Is it so much to ask?"

Elladan struggled to keep his composure but completely lost it when the singer caught him up in a tight embrace, whispering over and over a name that was not his own. He wept in misery as Maglor crooned consoling endearments to Elros.


	6. Part Six - Himling

**Part Six - Himling**  
With inescapable clarity, Elladan became aware of time and realised he'd spent nearly four months in the cosy cottage with Maglor. Exactly when they had moved from the clearing to this more substantial structure he couldn't remember, and while at first that had been mildly alarming, now it didn't seem so important. They were here, they were together; shouldn't that be enough? Built just on the fringe of the woods, it was the only solid house in the region for the Avarin elves lived as did the Galadhrim, in treetop talans. What did it signify if the cabin was simple and common? He was comfortable and did not miss the luxuries with which he'd been raised. It was home; he was home.

Long ago, though really it was only a handful of weeks, he'd come to understand that these rustic people viewed Maglor as their Lord and something more. There was a deep, reverential adoration accorded him and they served his needs with great love and devotion, hunting for him, gathering wood for his hearth, bringing fishes and buckets filled with molluscs, nets bursting with crabs and shrimp. He accepted all this graciously but with the definite manner of one accustomed to sovereignty and privilege.

Elladan was not displeased by this, for his father operated in a similar vein when dealing with the human colonies surrounding Imladris, accepting their tribute with gratitude. Yet Elrond returned far more than he received, and Elladan could not fathom what Maglor supplied that made the Avari so devoted. Asking the feral elves was hopeless, as a language barrier suddenly arose whenever he spoke of things they preferred not to discuss.

The cottage itself was maintained by the Avarin guide and his wife. Childless, the couple had adopted Maglor, though he was ancient, for in his earliest time here he had surely been mad, wandering lost and broken along the shore. Knowing nothing about him, they took pity on him. Now, thousands of years later, the pair considered him family and were proud of their chosen place as his substitute parents. They cooked and cleaned and cared for him, and when he'd come home with Elladan in tow their smiles sparkled and they showered the stranger with joyous welcome. Everything was a sign to them and Elladan's arrival was viewed as a positive omen of great things to come, though they did not care to elaborate on what that meant.

This was in part a legitimate matter of translation, for while Elladan had no understanding of their obscure dialect, they found Quenya easier to use than Sindarin and he was rusty in the Ancient Tongue. Somehow they managed and little by little Asmalindë (Yellow Bird), the wife, was teaching him the primitive elvish they spoke. As for her husband, Jatmâ (Bridge), he served as everything from Maglor's personal secretary, valet, and emissary to the rest of the Avarin people. They, and all the elves of the forest, called the noble Noldorin singer 'B'rônâ Kânô - Herald who has Long Endured. Jatmâ and the majority of the Avari called Elladan 'Ohtatyaro Nessa' (young warrior) and Asmalindë called by his given name, pronounced with accented precision he found pleasing. His sudden presence was accepted without question and without suspicion and he really did not want to know what Maglor had told them about his identity.

He was on the porch, a favourite place to sit at dawn and sip his morning tea, wondering how to reconcile this, his new life, with his duty to Imladris. He could never take his beloved home for such a union was not acceptable. His parents would never approve. Perhaps he could keep his lover a secret and divide his time, spending half the year here and the rest in Imladris, assuming he resolved things with Maglor. Elladan was no longer devastated that the Noldorin minstrel loved Elros and not him, deciding that it didn't matter because Elros was not here, never ever to return, and he was. In a strange way, it seemed that he really might be Elros remade and renewed. Why else had his mother given him such a name? It was certainly unique among elf-kind; even Idril had not named her half-human child so bluntly. Elladan decided to let his resentment go and simply accept the love offered. He sighed, smiling as he thought about how to make his feelings known to Maglor.

The peaceful morning was interrupted abruptly when the strident voice of Jatmâ, scolding Maglor in loud, exaggerated tones, came from inside the cottage. Elladan smiled; he was meant to hear and comprehend for the worthy servant uttered his chastisement in slow, careful Quenya.

"You make Ohtatyaro Nessa suffer. Ten days now he sits in gloom, never smiling, never laughing. Why are you so cruel to someone who loves you? Bah! Do not give me excuses."

"I know. I am trying to fix it," answered Maglor in succinct Sindarin, and this made Elladan snort in wry mirth.

He was creative if nothing else and the great minstrel had crafted this little play to make his apologies, yet again, for scarcely an hour could pass without him humbly begging forgiveness. Elladan had grown weary of it and had snapped at him to stop it and leave him alone. Maglor had nearly collapsed upon hearing this, slinking quietly away to his own room and shutting the door. That had been yesterday and there he'd remained, worrying his harp with random and dissonant notes, until now.

"Trying? Trying? What good is that? It is simple and you know what you must do," thundered Jatmâ.

A short silence followed, Elladan's ears perked up in interest, then Maglor's voice:

"You mean?"

"Yes, yes! That is the answer. You must take him sailing on Aearon."

Elladan could not help it, he laughed. Of course he'd been expecting the Avarin secretary to suggest something else entirely. Almost immediately Maglor burst through the door, smiling shyly, and sat beside him.

"It is good to hear that," he said earnestly. "So, will you come sailing with me? There is something I would like to show you. It will help you understand why I have hesitated." He left the rest unspoken for it was still too painful for Elladan to talk about.

"Aye, I would like that." He ignored the oblique reference to their plight and rose, offering his hand to Maglor. "I must warn you, I have never sailed, though I can canoe the rapids of the Bruinen well enough."

"That kind of manoeuvring is much more difficult than what we'll be doing." Maglor let Elladan's hand draw him up and refused to let it go. "The tides in Himling Cove are almost always gentle and calm."

At this point Jatmâ deemed it a good time to come forth, a coil of hithlain worn over his shoulder, and brought with him an oilskin bag which he held out to Elladan, passing the rope to his master. Behind him came Asmalindë bearing a wicker basket and this she presented to Maglor. Both were smiling and shared a secret, knowing look as though all was unfolding according to their own design, and the worthy Avarin seneschal spoke.

"It is about time you left here," he pointed at Maglor. "My wife and I have not shared our bodies since you brought the young warrior home. What kind of manners did you mother teach you?"

"Ai Valar, you old liar, stop trying to embarrass Elladan. We know you two mate like rabbits in your little talan in the trees," frowned the singer, but he was too happy to hold the expression and his smile broke out anew.

For his part, Elladan laughed, a touch red-faced, and glanced to Asmalindë, who confirmed Maglor's rebuttal with a broad wink. She addressed him:

"In the sack are clean dry clothes and in the basket enough food for luncheon and dinner, too. Besides, where you are going there are plenty of stores and you will want for no comfort. No need to hurry back." She issued a gentle shove to set Elladan into motion. "Go now before the tide turns."

They set off at a leisurely pace, the day sunny and warm and filled with the lazy feeling particular to summer beside the ocean, where light was brighter, colours limited to dazzling white, muted tan, and mysterious jade, where the wind was always at play. Perhaps it was the perpetual, languorous susperation of the sea, lulling body and soul into the same slow, sonorous rhythm that made hurrying unthinkable. Every step was a pleasure in itself, a world of sensations to relish: the way sand flowed beneath the feet, the subtle sound of grains compressing together; the subdued, ruffling roar of the wind bearing with it the briny breath of the ocean; the rustle and swish of saw-grass and palmetto; the sudden raucous call of a gull on the wing. They found no need for speech during the walk .

Ere long they reached the rocky beach head and Maglor led the way to a cleverly camouflaged boat. When he pulled back the sand-covered canvas and revealed it, Elladan's brows rose in consternation.

"This is a sailing craft?" he asked, not certain he wanted to try the waves in so flimsy a construction. Really, it was nothing more than two hollowed pontoons with a canvas tarpaulin stretched between them, a mast, a sail, furled tight and neat, and a rudder.

"Aye, it is perfect for light sailing near the coast. We aren't going out on the open sea," Maglor reassured. "Come, help me carry it to the surf."

Still unconvinced, Elladan set down his sack and complied, surprised and not at all comforted by how light-weight the little craft was. He feared to sink it with the stuff they piled on and lashed down to the bamboo frame. When Maglor bade him come aboard he climbed on gingerly, watching as the minstrel pushed it out into deeper water and hauled himself up, grinning and soaked from the waist down. He took one of the paddles as Elladan took the other and soon they were far enough from shore and the scattered rocks lurking beneath the surface to unfurl the sail. Maglor did so, turning it to catch the wind on the reach. With a shudder and a leap, eager as any stallion given his head, the catamaran bounded into the surf, scudding away at such remarkable speed that Elladan exclaimed in surprise and snatched at the head-stay. Maglor only smiled.

"Take the tiller for me," he said, though he could easily manage the sail and the rudder himself. He wanted Elladan to be comfortable and knew he needed something to do while he adjusted to the unique experience.

"I don't know what I'm doing," he fretted, scrambling anxiously across the canvas floor to settle cross-legged beside the singer. He laid hold of the tiller anyway, looking for approval from Maglor.

"I'll tell you what to do. It's no different from using a paddle to manoeuvre a canoe one way or the other through a stream or river. Out here, the wind supplies the power, we just need to keep the sail filled and the boat's direction due north-west," he instructed. "Feel how the wind blows in from the side? That's called abeam and it's the best wind, easy sailing, a good, broad reach. We'll be there quickly."

"Where?"

"There."

Maglor pointed and Elladan sighted down his arm and found his eyes on the distant hump of rocky land at the mouth of the cove - Himling.

"You are taking me to the island?" Elladan was not quite sure why but this set off vague alarms in his heart. "This is what you would show me?"

"Aye. It is my home, Elladan," said Maglor. "And yours also, I hope."

Elladan nodded gravely, his uneasiness not diminished despite this encouraging development. If Maglor wished to introduce him to his home, surely that implied a more permanent arrangement than the one currently in place. Unwilling to get his hopes up too soon, he focused on keeping the rudder steady as the boat skimmed along across the dimpled sea and asked nothing more, listening as Maglor filled the silence with lore about sailing the deeps. A scant hour later they were dragging the boat onto the shingle and tied her fast to a prepared mooring set amid the broken rocks.

From the beach, the shallow slope seemed greater and Elladan gazed in trepidation at the fortress looming in shadowy, ominous menace atop the highest point on the submerged mountain. Smooth, granite bricks of a fallen turret lay strewn all down the side of the hill, flecks of mica and quartz blinking bright in the sun. A jagged gap welcomed the open sky into the interior where the roof had collapsed. Once proud and indomitable, the battlements snarled a snaggle-toothed grimace at the outsider and Elladan felt a distinct undercurrent of ambient enmity, a not so subtle sense of being warned off the place. He moved closer to Maglor, eyeing the decaying ruin with disapprobation.

"I though Himring was overrun by Orcs in the First Age. Isn't it unfit for elf-kind to inhabit now?" he queried.

"True, the place was fouled by the filthy beasts, but that was Ages ago. I assure you, any trace of their presence has long been erased. It is clean again."

"It doesn't look very inviting," Elladan stated as they strolled up the wind-blown path toward the crumbling arch of the great gates. These leaned drunkenly askew, bent and broken by the foment of the Valar's wrath as Beleriand was wrenched and twisted into oblivion in the final days of the First Age.

"That is just the outside; the interior is all new. I have let the exterior decay to discourage anyone from coming here. Once, Gil-Galad had the notion to reclaim the fortress and erect his own watch tower. I convinced him that with Melkor cast out, little threat was likely to come down from the north. Sauron did eventually create his abode to the south, just as i predicted."

"You had dealings with the High King?" Elladan did not try to hide his surprise.

"Yes, and with Círdan and Ossë, but this you know for you were" he caught himself suddenly and sucked in a hurried breath, eyes darting to see what damage he'd done to Elros _~ Elladan ~_ this time. "I'm sorry," he offered immediately. "I keep forgetting."

"Nay, it's all right," Elladan assured, taking his arm and linking it through his. "I shouldn't have brought it up. Anyway, if you say the place is safe and cosy inside, I trust you."

Maglor stopped and turned to face him, eyes shining with jubilation.

"Aye, you do, so completely that it steals my courage and my very soul trembles. I don't want to fail you. I would die before betraying such faith and can do no less than to trust you as well. That was the mistake I made before, you see, I tried to keep you from finding out. I didn't mean to deceive you, yet that is how it surely seemed. This time, all will be revealed and then if you still would have me, we will forge that bond we both desire." To seal the promise he reached for Elladan and drew him close, kissing him with as much passion and fervour as he could fit into mere seconds of contact. He came away smiling, tugged on Elladan's arm to get him moving, and hurried the pace. "Come!" he exhorted.

"Ai! The place has lasted this long, it isn't likely to fall apart before our eyes now," quipped Elladan, and though he was grinning, his conscience gave his heart a fierce jab. The broken minstrel trusted him and all he had to offer was a terrible lie. Sooner or later it must be discovered; what then?

_~Nay, my love for him is no lie. He has no one else; I have no one else. That is the reality here. Once we are bound, it will not matter what my name is; his heart will forgive me.~_

It was enough; it would have to be. He gathered his resolve, now eager to let Maglor uncover this secret he'd been harbouring, he was anxious to move past it to the promised union. Whatever it was, he would not be put off as Elros had been and finally he would know what had caused the couple to break so completely. The next instant it came to him that, because of this secret, Elros had chosen the fate of Men so as never to be joined with Maglor again. That thought sobered him and he hastened, but his heart filled with foreboding. If his uncle could not bear knowledge of this thing, could he?

By now they were picking their way carefully across the blasted courtyard, its fine paving stones cracked and broken, a rift in the ground dividing the once genteel space and forcing them to go far out of the way, approaching the main entrance from an angle that made them hug the high walls. A doorway stood open, its wooden boards long ago decayed and the iron hasps made to hold them furry with orange rust. Through it Maglor ducked and Elladan followed and found himself in the labyrinth, something he'd heard about but never seen. It was confusing and had Maglor not been there he doubted he could find the way out, for the walls were so high and the way between them so narrow one could not see over.

"I rebuilt the maze mostly because Maedhros loved it so, and you told me to so often when you were a child here, saying you needed to get away from your brother so to think your own thoughts instead of his," said Maglor, hesitant and cautious, gauging Elladan's reaction. "I didn't bother then and later hadn't the heart for it. I reconstructed it two centuries after Tar Minyatur's death. It spells out our names in Quenya. II didn't know what your new name would be, so I had to"

"It's all right, Maglor. I am not displeased," assured Elladan and to prove it this time it was he who pulled Maglor close, kissing him soundly and with as much promise as he could fit into a few brief seconds. It imparted instant relief to the grave minstrel. "I am not displeased," he repeated, glad that it was so, and they continued on. "You'll give me the key?"

"Aye, but once through a couple of times you won't need it," smiled Maglor. Even as he finished, the next arch led them into a broad greensward dotted with clumps of wild daisies. The fortress seemed to have receded, though it was certainly closer, and in reality it was just not so daunting viewed from this perspective, which is what he wished. Those privileged to come this way, those who knew the key to the labyrinth were welcome and he would have them feel that. There was a rough path amid the flowers and this he took, hand still linked with Elladan's. A flurry of grey and brown wings and a frantic bit of squeaky complaining announced a covey of mourning doves' displeasure to have their scavenging interrupted and Elladan laughed.

"At least you are not entirely alone here," he said.

"No. I do have servants who dwell in the fortress, too. They look after everything for me," replied Maglor. As if on cue, a figure appeared on the high walk and called down a greeting. Maglor answered and the elf disappeared back inside. "Here we are," announced the singer, leading Elladan to a long open portico, the square columns austere in the same grey-speckled granite. They proceeded along it a short way and then came upon an alcove. Here Maglor paused and directed Elladan to watch him carefully. "Press the tiles in this order: my name, then Maedhros, then Amras, and finally Amrod." As he did so, a soft click sounded and a hidden doorway cracked open, leaning inward, and Maglor pushed it wide. "It is the order in which they were lost, though I am still here, of course."

"I will remember," assured Elladan, thinking this was a macabre sort of door ward. He followed Maglor in and found himself standing in an elegant and breathtaking foyer, the ceiling reaching the full height of the tallest tower, from which multi-coloured light streamed through a series of artful stained glass windows. The scenes looked to be a sort of visual history of the Feänorian Princes, though most were too far away to make out clearly, and a long winding stairway led up past them to the high battlements.

He dropped his gaze to inspect the rest of the room, which was furnished in mahogany and teak, the pieces decorated in gold-leaf and mithril inlay: a padded bench, a marble-topped table, a huge rack for cloaks and muddy boots, fine paintings on the walls, a gilded mirror. He spied one of the Avarin servants bowing low to Maglor, murmuring a greeting in that peculiar tongue, upswept amber eyes favouring Elladan with a curious glance that was not unfriendly. That gave him comfort and he smiled. The servant smiled back and bowed himself away, which Elladan thought very quaint and comical, though he controlled his urge to laugh.

"They have great love for you," he commented.

"And I for them. These are a dedicated and true-hearted people. When the time comes, they will show their worth, and none understand the sacrifice they make in remaining here. But that must sound cryptic indeed! Let me show you my home and as I do, all will become clear to you," said Maglor, his voice and tone rich, filled with strength and dignity, for here he was master and none could dispute it.

Elladan could not help but react to it and felt himself in the presence of an ancient power, shivering a bit with both disquiet and heightened expectation, for though he'd been with Maglor many weeks now, he had the distinct feeling that only now, today, would he truly find out who this elf was.

"There is much you need to know," Maglor answered the unspoken thoughts, as he so often did, "but what I have revealed to you is true and real, so far as my feelings for you. Let us begin in this room. It is my study, if you will, and quite harmless." He opened a door to the right and motioned Elladan inside.

It was indeed just an ordinary office, though the furnishings were of high quality and obviously also very old, relics of another Age and time.The high-backed chair behind the massive desk was carved ornately, the crest of the House of Feänor proudly worked into the elaborate whorls and scrolls. The upholstered seat was covered in velvet of a rich burgundy and Elladan sat there, viewing the leather-padded expanse of the table's surface from Maglor's perspective. He looked up to find the singer smiling indulgently as he settled in the chair on the opposite side.

Everything was neat and tidy, no papers strewn across it or stacked high to over-flowing as on his Adar's desk. The inkwell was filled and there were several quills ready to hand. He took one up and found the end sharp and trim; he sent Maglor a quick smile. A stick of ruby red wax stood next to a heavy brass seal and Elladan picked it up to examine the mark his lover used. It consisted of his initials wrought beneath the emblem of his father's House and Elladan was struck by that, raising his hand to glance upon his signet ring. Identical to Elrohir's since their initials were the same, the two letters were worked beneath the seal of the House of Eärendil. Both his seal and Maglor's bore as its most prominent devise a Silmaril.

"We are bound to what has gone before," he said sombrely, "whether we would or no. Tied to it by birth, no choice whatsoever," he mused, more than a little disturbed by it. Was he fated to live Elros' life as it would have been had he chosen the life of the First-born? Was that his purpose?

"Would you have it different?" asked Maglor. "We must accept that our circumstances are preordained by Eru, long before even our fathers' fathers existed."

"Why is it so?" demanded Elladan. "Why are we unable to change anything?"

"What would you change?"

"I don't know," he sighed, disgruntled and aggravated that he couldn't express what he felt. Elladan rose from the desk and wandered around the room, touching the edges of books in the tall cases against the wall, picking up a small framed painting from a side table. He stared into the comely face of an elleth without knowing who she was, wondering at once if this was the abandoned wife. Maglor came to join him and smiled as he looked upon the picture.

"Nerdanel," he said, voice soft and filled with happy memories. "My naneth," he explained, seeing no recognition on Elladan's face. "She accepted my differences and said they were my strengths. She would not let the others tease me for preferring to play the harp instead of practising for warfare. Besides, I was able enough with the sword."

"She is beautiful. Does she still live in Aman?"

"I would assume so," Maglor shrugged, looking away uneasily. "She would not come with us. When she learned I, too, had sworn the Oath, she knew then that the twins would follow as well, for they ever threw in their lot with mine. She wept bitterly and I fear she must have suffered greatly from grief over all that came to pass. I wishNae! You are right, sometimes it would be preferable to have some say in it!" he exclaimed heatedly, eyes riven with anguish.

"She will still be there when you return. A mother's love is immutable and she will be happy to see you once more."

"That, my dear young love, will be a very very long time from now!" Maglor barked cynically. He took the picture and set it back carefully in its place. "Come, there is more. I think next we must visit the Gallery."

He led the way out, a second door opening into a short corridor lined on one side with floor to ceiling windows through which the golden sunlight streamed, illuminating the plush carpet beneath their feet and the burnished walnut panelling of the opposite wall. The windows looked upon a formal garden with a central fountain and numerous flower beds. An elf was there, tending the plants, and he looked up, smiling and offering a short bow as the two passed by. At the other end of this hall was a small anteroom in which were three doors and Maglor selected the one to the left, swinging it wide and leading the way in this time. Elladan followed and caught his breath as soon as he crossed the threshold.

It was a museum, a depository for relics of the singer's family and their deeds while in Arda. There were cases upon cases and he slowly walked between them, gazing upon jewels and jewellery of exquisite design and inestimable value, including a graceful coronet encrusted with gems of astounding colour and quality, rubies and emeralds and sapphires, all within a frame of mithril worked in elegant filigree. That it could only be the crown meant for the High King of the Noldor was made obvious by the fair banner upon which it rested, though the flag was ripped and mangled, the bold emblem all but obliterated by the blood ground into its fibres.

"All that remained of Fingon," said Maglor quietly. "His death nearly broke Maedhros."

To this Elladan could offer no reply, too amazed to be viewing these things. Surely the crown had passed to Ereinion Gil-Galad, yet here it rested in Maglor's Keep.

"Elrond brought it here to Lindon after the debacle of the Last Alliance, overcome with anger and grief, and cast it into the sea, cursing just about every Vala, Maia, elf, man, and even Eru for the cruelties of fate. Ossë fished it out and gave it into my care."

"Valar! Did my Adid Elrond stay with you then?" Elladan's heart bounded painfully over this near mistake, but Maglor did not take any notice of it.

"Nay," he gave a cynical snort. "Elrond cannot abide the thought of me and has maintained staunchly that I am dead, just as Maedhros. He blames me, you know, for what happened to you. No, it is to Círdan he runs, or used to do before his marriage. The Lady Celebrian has soothed and settled him, so I have heard, and he is now a renowned and revered Elven Lord, Master of Lore and Healing, and has given up the sword, as have I. For now. But these are things you must know well, dwelling in Imladris."

"Yes." Elladan felt his mind tilt in dangerous directions, fearful that somehow Maglor had come to understand the truth and had brought him here to confront him. What would happen then? He could not let his tremulous heart dwell on that, reminding himself instead of the promise Maglor had made just minutes ago. He returned to the contents of the case wherein was a dagger in an ornate sheath encrusted with jewels, its leather stained dark with blood, and Elladan somehow knew this had belonged to Feänor himself.

"I took it from his fist when he died. Curufin wanted it but I would not allow him to take it. It was Maedhros' by right and he said I should keep it safe as he could not bear to touch the thing. I couldn't either," Maglor said sadly. He turned to Elladan abruptly. "He was not evil," he said, eyes imploring understanding, acceptance.

"No," Elladan shook his head, "he was not evil. But some of the things he did"

"Aye, wholly evil. My deeds, too, are marked by cruelty and coldness," now his voice had gone hard and dark. "I cannot pretend otherwise. My knife is not in a case, Elladan, I still carry it." So saying he suddenly drew the dagger and held it forth, hilt out-facing, daring the younger elf to take it, smiling grimly when Elladan cringed back from the tainted blade. "Aye, you cannot touch it, knowing what has been done with it. That does you great credit, for it proves your interest here is not driven by morbid curiosity, as so many others would be."

Elladan lifted stricken eyes to flinty grey ones, feeling he did not know the elf who owned them at all. He moved back uneasily. "Maglor?"

"The same hands that caress you so passionately, these hands are the very ones that snuffed out the life of your own kind, your own people." He advanced into the vacated space, dagger still in hand.

"Nay!"

"Yes. Not just once, but thrice. I hoped to escape this doom but it was not possible. Even after I found you and your brother and swore a new oath, never to touch the sword again, I knew even then it was hopeless." He halted and slid the knife back into its sheath. "Given the chance to claim the Silmarili and avenge my father, my brothers, my father's father, I would do it."

"Daro! I don't believe it. The elf I know would not do these things." Elladan covered his ears and turned away. "I don't know what madness claimed you then, but neither do I want to know!"

"Madness? Perhaps so, but you had best take a long hard look at where you are and with whom you have cast your fate."

"I do not want to! I know who I love and he would not do those things!"

"But I did, Elladan. Look at me!" shouted Maglor. He took hold of Elladan's hands and tore them from his ears, making him hear. "How can you say that you love me if you cannot face this? Do you think I want some starry-eyed youth mesmerised by my music and swooning over my looks? If we would be together, then you must face this openly, as must I. With me, you would be forced to make a bitter choice. Be not mistaken, there is no forgiveness for me beyond Himling Cove, not yet, and not for a very long time, more time than even I can imagine. I have been alive since the time of the Two Trees, Elladan."

"Saes, daro," whispered Elladan, shocked and frightened. What exactly was he saying? "Surely weI would be welcome in Lindon or Imla"

"No!" Maglor grabbed him by the arms and shook him hard. "We would not be welcome anywhere; _you_ would not be welcome anywhere. Do you not comprehend that? Who do you know that would welcome a kin-slayer or his mate to their table? We would be together, but we would be alone."

Elladan stared at his face, saw the deep fear within those dilated depths. Maglor believed he would abandon him as soon as it became apparent that he had traded all, birthright, reputation, the companionship of friends, the love of family, all sacrificed for their union. He felt sick and wanted to sit down but Maglor held him fast, waiting for an answer. He licked his lips and opened them to speak and suddenly the callused fingertips pressed them shut and he was pulled into a tight embrace, fierce and desperate in its intensity.

"Nay, don't say anything, not yet. Please. There is more, so much more." The whispered words wafted past his ears and then he was released, left swaying where he stood as Maglor moved on toward another case deeper within the room. He lit a lamp atop it and looked back expectantly. Elladan went unsteadily to him, dreading what he would see beneath the glass.

He had reason to, for upon the white silk surface lay a host of trinkets, everyday objects, and personal belongings, most of them broken, some of them whole and spattered with the gory residue of death. A hairbrush, a mirror, a child's toy horse, a lyre, a simple water flask, a ceramic pot for cooking, the collection was nothing but the mundane artefacts of everyday life. They could only be mementoes taken from the elves killed during one of the kin-slayings. Elladan felt his gorge rise and gripped the edge of the heavy case for support.

"Why?" he croaked out, shaking his head. "Why keep these?"

"To remember," said Maglor. "So that I never forget what I have done. These were not soldiers, these were not enemies, not Orcs or evil Men. These were just people, elves living quietly and at peace. Few of them even knew what the Oath was all about. None had ever seen a Silmaril, Elladan. It didn't matter; we killed them anyway. I killed them."

In the silence that followed Elladan lost track of what was happening, suddenly finding himself absorbed into the horror of it all as though standing there, watching the massacre, watching Maglor raise his bloody knife and slash the throat of a child and her mother, saw him turning to spy him there, raising the dagger to strike, and then he knew nothing, felt himself falling. It was just a second or two and he returned to find himself slumped in Maglor's arms, the singer frantically calling his name.

"Ai! Elladan, speak!" he commanded in grateful anguish, seeing comprehension returning to the elf he held up.

"I am fine now," said Elladan weakly. He got his legs back under him and then wrapped his arms around the singer. "I was there, for a minute, in Sirion. I saw you."

"I believe you. Nae, that is the one memory I would never wish you to recall," he said, pulling Elladan's arm over his shoulder and leading him to a chair. "Sit, I have some Miruvor around here somewhere." He moved away to a sideboard and brought back a small silver cup, waiting and watching anxiously as the tonic was gulped it down. They stood staring at one another in distress and sorrow and then Maglor crouched down on his heels beside the chair, taking up one of Elladan's hands carefully. "I know this is hard, but it is necessary. Now that you have seen, do you wish to leave me?"

Elladan could not find his voice and simply shook his head, mutely appealing for more time to recover, to prepare for what ever was next. Somehow he knew that dark past had been defeated, had to have been. The Silmarili were lost, the Oath was fulfilled, and Maglor was free to be a minstrel again. He could not love someone who would so cruelly and viciously destroy life and he did love Maglor, deeply. If he must endure this macabre visit through the gruesome history of the Feänorian Princes to prove that love, he was up to it. Or he would be, in time. It was granted, the minstrel standing and moving behind the chair, there to draw away the heavy black locks so to begin firmly massaging Elladan's neck and shoulders, ignoring the involuntary twitch that jolted through the bones beneath his hands. Maglor began speaking again.

"Maedhros and I, even as we did these things, were horrified by them yet could not escape the obligation of the Oath. Freely we swore it, not realising to what we had committed our lives. In the heat of the moment, our father's grief-stricken, enraged words ringing in our ears, we felt as did he, and would have vengeance of the Valar for permitting the rape of the Silmarili and the murder of our grandfather. After, at Alqualondë, it was apparent that Feänor's mind was broken, but it was already too late. We could not rescind the vow nor refuse his call to reclaim what was stolen. I think Maedhros and I talked about thisI think Adar believed the Silmarili could restore his father to life."

"Valar," Elladan whispered, shaking his head.

"We will leave this room now," suggested Maglor. "It is here and you can return and inspect everything at your own pace. Nothing is to be hidden from you this time. I kept it locked and guarded when you and Elrond were growing up, though you had seen with your own eyes the deeds of which I am guilty. I thank the Valar your naneth fled when she did, else I might have" He broke off and his hands gripped Elladan's shoulders tight. After a minute he regained his composure and went on. "Ask whatever you need to ask; I swear to you I will answer truthfully. If at any time it becomes" Again he lost the use of his tongue, the words he was about to utter too terrible to speak aloud. Once was all he could manage; twice would be to tempt fate. At once the younger elf reached back and covered one of his hands, meeting his tormented gaze with grim determination.

"I am not leaving," Elladan said strongly, fervently, and wondered at the conviction within his own voice when his heart was fairly torn asunder from what he had chosen. Here was his opportunity to turn back, to escape and think on it no more, but doing so meant abandoning Maglor and the love he offered. Elladan was not prepared to do that.

With a sudden jolt Ossë's words came back, taunting him. Here indeed was the very moment and just as the Maia had predicted, he would not willingly break free from this doom. A sharp breath left him and he felt the room spinning, vaguely hearing Maglor's heartfelt words of love and thanksgiving, barely noticing when he was raised to his feet and led away.

Maglor showed him many rooms: libraries and ballrooms, parlours and banquet halls, suites and apartments; he could not focus on any of them, too lost in his own confused thoughts. He was not himself anymore, Elladan of Imladris. Now he was something new, a blend of people, souls, hearts, Elros and Elladan both. Was that what Ossë had meant when he said he would become Elros? It must be so. Yet he had no memories of Elros, did he? Then what was that vision beside the case if not the horrible destruction at Sirion seen through the child his uncle had been?

"Elladan?"

"Aye?"

"Are you well? Do you want to stop for a time?"

"Nay, I am just a little overwhelmed," Elladan gave the understatement of his life and laughed uneasily, the sound jarring and close to hysteria.

"Do not make light of it; this is no easy choice you have made today. Sit, I will get the Miruvor." Maglor was not amused and peered deep into the young warrior's eyes as he settled Elladan upon a small chair just inside Maedhros' room.

Elladan sipped the drink brought to him, noting the Avarin page hovering near watching him, serious eyes filled with concern. He wondered when he'd been called. Had he been told his name? He thought to smile in reassurance but couldn't make his face co-operate with the notion. Hazily, he took in the room, finding the space filled with memorabilia of the eldest Noldorin Prince, and it was obvious the singer held his elder brother in great esteem and even adoration. He must have spoken aloud for Maglor replied at once.

"I did idolise him. I never knew anyone with stronger convictions or greater courage." Lovingly he touched the scabbard of a fearsome broadsword resting as on an altar, draped in creamy satin, retelling the valour with which it was used in the battle of Unnumbered Tears. He did not speak of the innocents that had died at its edge. Why had Elrond and Elros been spared? He strove to remember - ah, yes; to serve as hostages against the return of the gem Elwing had carried away to Aman. The twin boys must have been imprisoned at Himring to prevent both escape and rescue.

"Surely I would not be captive here," Elladan suddenly blurted out, gazing up at Maglor with blank, bewildered eyes.

"What? No. I don't know what you mean," Maglor eyed him warily. "You think I plan to keep you here against your will?"

"Nay, but you saidyou said I wouldn't be able to ever go to Imladris after."

"You could certainly go, but you would have to accept that you would not be welcome," advised Maglor. Again he dropped into a crouch, concerned about where Elros' _~Elladan's~_ thoughts were leading him, and searched his lover's distraught face.

"Oh. That I know. I was thinking about it this morning, that my parents would never approve," Elladan stated flatly, gazing sadly into the sharp grey eyes he had come to love so much. "Doesn't seem fair, to find someone only to have to hide it from my family."

"Your family is here in Middle-earth? In Imladris?"

"Yes, where else would they be?"

"Aman, I thought." Maglor was stunned. "You grew up here and I didn't know it. Perhaps that is best," he mused, gaze turning inward, a light smile softening his features as a memory of Elros' youth flitted across his brain. He returned to scan Elladan's scattered expression, searching the shape of his face, the set of his eyes, looking for clues as to the elf's progenitors. "Who? Nay. Nay, maybe it is better not to know, there are only so many of this lineage left and all of them despise" He broke off suddenly and sucked in a deep harsh breath, coming back to his feet like a shot. "Oh, Elladan," he whispered, awe-struck at such courage, to choose him in the face of such daunting opposition, for he divined who the true parents of his beloved must be. He sank back to his heels and framed the pensive face between his hands. "Do they know where you are?"

Elladan shook his head in silent negation, not even questioning how Maglor figured it out. He always seemed to read his very thoughts; it was surprising the subterfuge hadn't been given away before now. It never occurred to him that he was the one bridging their minds, inserting his thoughts effortlessly within his counterpart's comprehension.

"Are you angry? I didn't want to deceive you but I didn't know what would happen if you learned the truth. Are you going to send me away?"

"Nay! Why would I want to do so? I don't care who your parents are now anymore than I did then."

"What?" Elladan began to grasp that nothing had been resolved at all. Carefully he removed the hands from his cheeks, gripping them tight within his own. "But I am not Elros."

"No, you are called Elladan now. We have established that, pen vuin," Maglor smiled and pressed his forehead against Elladan's, reaching behind his neck to hold him tight a moment. It always comforted him as a child and he responded now as well, instinctively relaxing and moving forward to rest his head on Maglor's shoulder. Any faint doubts the minstrel might have harboured evaporated. Besides, the final test was yet to come and that one was definitive.

They remained in this loose embrace a time and when Elladan was sufficiently recovered, visited the rooms devoted to Amras and Amrod, and here Maglor broke down and wept, for the youngest of the seven brothers were the least like their father and the most ruined because of the Oath. It was well known that they had died during the kin-slaying at Sirion, but Maglor revealed that they had taken their own lives, side by side as they were in life, rather than spill another drop of elven blood. The swords with which they had done this deed were mounted in honour upon the wall.

Elladan comforted Maglor as best he could, though he had no words to offer. He could not imagine bearing the weight of such guilt and sorrow and simply held him as he grieved. In comparison, the fight with Elrohir and their subsequent break seemed paltry and he was embarrassed over his childish self-pity. His presence was enough and eventually the singer pulled himself together, hugged Elladan hard, and kissed him gently.

"I miss them," he said simply.

"Aye."

They left the temple of the twins and in silence began to descend a spiral staircase. There were no shrines dedicated to Curufin, Caranthir, or Celegorm and no mention of them was made. Elladan did not find that strange as these Princes were better known for their cruelty than their valour. The stairs wound on and on, passing numerous landings which were ignored as they descended into the depths of the drowned mountain. He had not realised there were several stories underneath the fortress, though as he went down it made sense to him, for the castle would have had rooms for storage and dungeons for captured enemies. He fervently hoped they were not on the way to one of those and Maglor looked back with a compassionate smile.

"No torture chambers here," he joked but a wry smile was the best he could coax from his love. Yet for all Elladan's quiet, Maglor was pleased and very proud. He had worried, and sometimes Elros seemed so different, but now he realised the differences were exactly those needed, exactly what had been lacking in Elros before, what had prevented him from accepting the important role they had to play. With Elladan, things would be different. His prayers truly had been answered this time and to have Elros reborn as Elrond's son seemed the mark of the Valar's Blessing indeed.

They reached the lowest point of the fortress, deep in the bowels of Himring, and surely this part of the island must be deep beneath the sea. Elladan shuddered, imagining the great expanse of seething ocean billowing and foaming above his head, and looked askance at Maglor, who had stopped and was regarding him with intense scrutiny. "What is it?"

"We are here," said Maglor, "at the centre of everything in my world. If you remain with me, this will become the centre of your world, too."

"I don't understand. What is this place?"

"In there," he pointed to an open archway from which a clear white light emanated, "is my whole purpose for existing. For this I was spared. Would you like to understand? I warn you, from this there is no turning back. I have kept this secret from every living soul, save only my son and the Avari who serve the same purpose as I. The last person I told was you, but long ago, and really it was that I did not tell you that hurt you so. You found this place on your own and accused meWell, that was then. You are here now and I invite you to go in freely." Maglor stood back and motioned Elladan ahead with his arm, bowing a little as he did so.

The gravity of those serious grey eyes was both unsettling and electrifying, and the words the most intriguing Elladan had heard, alluding once again to this mystery, which he had mistakenly assumed was the museum above. Of course, thinking more clearly now, the artefacts kept in the Gallery would not have driven Elros off for surely he knew that history well. No, the reason was beyond the threshold and Elladan could do nothing but enter in, fearing to find some new horror on display, determined to remain open-minded and keep his love for Maglor foremost in his thoughts, determined to succeed where his uncle had failed.

No ghastly mementoes of war and death were here enshrined. Instead he found himself in a cool, quiet sanctuary, the room a natural cavern carved from the heart of the mountain. An altar of sorts stood in the centre of the room, a magnificent flow-stone still glimmering and pearlescent though the water had ceased feeding the cave Ages ago. Draped in sapphire satin, upon it rested the source of the clean, bright light: a white gem of such immaculate perfection that it stole one's breath. There was no doubting that this must be one of the lost Silmarili.

"The one you cast into the sea!" Elladan exhaled the words even as his feet bore him closer. He could not tear his eyes from the object and circled the altar, viewing it from every angle. He was consumed with the desire to touch it and raised his hand to it. Even as he did, the light around it became warm, filled with golden welcome as its aura extended to meet his fingers. There was heat there, but not enough to hurt, and he let his fingers caress the smooth facets, a soft cry escaping him as a definite sense of presence met his mind. "It is a living thing!" he whispered in shock and joy, smiling as he looked up to find Maglor beside him.

"Yes, you speak the truth and that you can feel this tells me all I need to know. You were meant for this, Elladan. Here, take it." With that Maglor reached around him and took the stone from its resting place, handling it with ease bound within reverence. Taking one of Elladan's hands, he placed the gem within it, wrapping his fingers over it and covering all with his remaining hand. He raised triumphant eyes to meet his beloved's stunned expression.

"You can hold it," said Elladan, a huge smile breaking out over his features. "You can hold it!"

"Aye," Maglor laughed, giddy with the knowledge.

"You have been forgiven," insisted Elladan, "else this could not be happening. It is happening, isn't it?"

"Yes, my wakeful Dreamer," assured Maglor, taking the jewel and cupping it within his own hands, "this is happening. Look into its light, do you see?"

Elladan moved closer and bent over the pulsing gem, watching avidly for whatever he was supposed to note. After a second or two he gasped, feeling his soul sucked into the heart of the gem, and he resisted at first, until the jewel calmed him, promising no harm would come to him from the experience. With that he relinquished control and let his consciousness flow into the heart of the stone.

Time and space were shattered and he could see that there was no time at all, feel that the concept of permanence was simultaneously false and the only absolute truth that held in this confusing place. Yet he was not frightened or disturbed. Everything was as it should be, everything was happening at once and yet in sequence as laid out before time came to be. He saw it all, how the strains of the Music were moulded, transformed into the universe he inhabited. He understood it all, yet only as it pertained to him and to Maglor, and though he viewed a fluid sea of scenes, shifting and changing in restless harmony, one thing remained the same: he and Maglor were together. He realised suddenly that this was their life unfolding and now he could see the starting point: himself peering into the magnificent gem. Through all they did and all they shared, it became obvious that they served this sentient jewel, protecting and hiding its existence until it was required of them at last. He saw that moment unfold, too.

Maglor willingly and with great joy gave the Silmaril into the hands of Varda and a person of such radiance and light that Elladan could not clearly make out his features, nor tell if he was Vala, Maia, or something more. In his hands, the gem disappeared, became part of him, or he a part of it, and from them burst a light that transformed the world, sweeping away all that had been, remaking it anew, and returning to it the glory meant for it at the beginning of things when Eru called the Music of the Valar into reality. When it was done both the gem and the strange being were gone.

The vision ended and Elladan found himself standing again beside Maglor, the minstrel singing softly, and he knew at once it was the song that had called him back, for he would willingly remain within the living light forever were it possible. Elladan found he had tears on his cheeks, for the beauty lost, for the beauty that would be, for the price all of it must cost.

"Now I have told you everything," said Maglor. "It is vital, what I do here, and it is right that I should do it, for I am the last Feänorion. Because of my dedication to this cause, I have been granted pardon for my crimes, at least most of them, and all will be cleansed at the final hour when I do what my father could not: give up the Silmarili for the betterment of all. I cannot leave my appointed task, not for any purpose or any cause. Not for you, Elladan. If we are to be, then we must be here. Will you stay?"

"Aye," he answered immediately, without hesitation. "I will stay. We will do this thing together."


	7. Part Seven - Elros

**Part Seven - Elros**  
A soft, jubilant cry left Maglor's lungs and he cupped Elladan's face between his hands, sealing their mouths together in a passionate kiss filled with relief and joy and solace and gratitude, all wrapped up in his abiding love. As on the first night they met, Elladan reached up for those hands, but this time he held them tight, never wanting them removed from him, returning the kiss with all the heat he could manufacture, well aware of the promise to be fulfilled. They parted, eyes shining and lips smiling, and set about disrobing one another, yet only got as far as open tunics before Maglor revealed that he had anticipated this outcome. Gently he lured Elladan deeper into the cavern with light, tempting kisses and seductive touches, tugging him by the nipples to a dimly lit alcove wherein a nest of cushions and silken sheets awaited them.

With a gleeful shout he leaped backwards and fell into the soft heap, laughing as he extricated himself from his tunic and tossed it playfully at Elladan. The next second he gave out a loud, surprised cry as the younger elf pounced, landing squarely atop his chest and driving all the air from him. While he struggled to catch his breath, Elladan stripped off his lover's boots and had the leggings nearly untied. That would not do; Maglor wanted to control this experience and his virgin lover was too eager by far.

"Patience!" he said stridently, bucking Elladan off him and snatching him around the waist. He threw him over and pinned him down amid the pillows, smiling down into the flushed countenance. He pulled Elladan's arms up and gathered the wrists in one hand, smiling as Elladan's tunic gaped wide. He bent down and nipped at one tight brown nipple and lapped its twin.

"Ai, no, saes," pleaded Elladan. "No teasing."

"I am not teasing," Maglor said gravely. He traced around the rosy aureole of one hard nub, watching as Elladan pressed into the touch. "I have this all planned out and will not abide any interference."

He pinched the tender node and then kissed it, rolling his tongue over it. Then he sucked for a time enjoying the taste of Elladan's skin, exulting as the body beneath him writhed and rubbed most enticingly against his. He shifted to the other nipple and applied the same treatment and all the while his free hand petted and caressed the muscular planes and valleys of his beloved's magnificent physique. Elladan had a warrior's body, hard and well defined, yet he was so soft and sensitive in certain places that the contrast itself was beguiling. He finally gave up the maroon points and settled higher, tonguing Elladan's ear so that he groaned and twitched, desperate to get their cocks in communion, but Maglor would not permit it.

"Interference?" complained Elladan. "Am I not to have any say over this? I would touch you as well." He could have worked his hands free but was reluctant to challenge Maglor.

"Nay. Not this time." Maglor smiled serenely and suddenly let him go. "Everything off, I need complete, unrestrained access to every bit of you."

He sat back and peeled off his leggings, laughing as a dark head pushed into his lap and a sweet, hot mouth enveloped his erection. Elladan sucked him voraciously and he pushed deep into the willing maw.

"Ai, Elladan, you do that so well." He leaned back and watched, hand smoothing over the ebony crown as he was suckled and nipped and lapped with gusto. It was tempting to empty his testes into that warm, wet cavity, but Maglor had other plans. Still, he was experienced and had no difficulty holding back, thoroughly enjoying Elladan's efforts to bring him to orgasm. Finally, he took a handful of black hair and pulled the gluttonous mouth off his penis.

"Why did you stop me?" Elladan rubbed his sore head, unable to keep his eyes on Maglor's face as that gloriously virile form was right there in front of him, just begging to be caressed and kissed and shamelessly fucked.

"Valar, you are so disobedient. DId I not say to strip?" Maglor scolded. Not waiting to be obeyed, he yanked the half-open tunic off and shoved Elladan onto his back. He lay there quite docile and submissive, just waiting for whatever Maglor wished to do to him, dark eyes shining in eager anticipation, so ready to be taken. The singer felt a thrill go through him, for while this time would be a fairly conservative coupling, Elladan's compliant posture promised erotic deviance was in their future. He eyed the rigid bulge that stretched the leather leggings and deftly stroked the confined flesh, grinning when his lover thrust up into the touch.

"What have we here?" he snickered. "Doesn't look very comfortable. Perhaps these ties are too tight, hmmm?"

"Ai, Maglor, saes, just get them off."

"You are entirely too bossy. Who is Lord here in Himring Castle?" he asked, half in jest but also utterly serious, and gave Elladan a light slap on the cheek.

Elladan gasped and went still, eyes wide and dark. "You are, Hîren," he whispered, breath ragged and heart pounding.

"Excellent." Maglor rewarded him with a searing kiss during which he untied the laces and parted the soft supple garment. He sat back and watched as Elladan involuntarily flexed his hips and the hard shaft slowly found its way out. He inspected it carefully, taking it up and then pulling to make it stand straight out, holding it thus with the tip of his finger pressed against the very pinnacle. Elladan moaned and squirmed under the pressure of that single digit.

"You are longer than I remember, more slender. I like it."

"So glad you approve," Elladan huffed out, excited and impatient. "I hope you plan to do more than stareAI!"

The minstrel's other hand, ignored and thus free to do as its owner would have it, had just burrowed inside the pants and seized his balls. It hurt in the most exquisite way and he lay sprawled out, gasping as those hands held him captive and tortured him with delicate precision, rubbing the tip of his cock, rolling the tender testicles.

"You keep using that insolent and demanding tone," mused Maglor, stroking the florid erection slowly, watching the skin slide over the hot column of engorged flesh, "and I'll have to punish you. I can make this go on for a very, very long time."

"Oh, please!" Elladan drew the word out in a trembling, pleading, breathless moan, for Maglor chose that moment to straddle him, cock to cock, and ground against him with maddeningly glorious friction, straining forward to capture one of his ears, sucking it avidly. Deciding two could play, he reached for a firm arse-cheek and grabbed a handful of flesh while slipping his head beneath one of the strong arms and nuzzling a dark maroon nipple. He bit the luscious skin and pulled a bit, only to let go at once as his ear received a much sharper bite that left him shaking, hot spiky flares of delight racing over his entire body.

"You beg so earnestly it makes me want to give in." Maglor lifted off him and took a firm grip on the waist of the leggings, dragging them down with such force that Elladan was pulled half-way to the floor. "Now, those are entirely too tight if it's that hard to get them off you," stated Maglor. They both giggled, Elladan scooting back into the midst of the plush mound, blatantly displaying his arousal as he went, legs wide and inviting.

"It isn't the pants it's these slippery sheets," he defended his choice in clothing valiantly.

"Too slippery? Obviously you haven't thought enough about the possibilities inherent in that quality," drawled Maglor, taking up a corner of the fabric and wrapping it around Elladan's shaft, enclosed both in his fist, letting the soft, silky cloth glide over the sensitised skin as he vigourously stroked the hidden organ, bringing his love right to the brink before tearing away the cover and at once snatching Elladan's grasping hands, preventing him from finishing the stimulation himself. He watched as the hips rose off the fluffy bedding and the straining penis fucked the empty air. "Ai Valar, you want it so, you wanton thing," he chided. "But I am in control."

"So you keep saying," growled Elladan, managing to get an arm free and making a grab for the ruddy erection peeking out between Maglor's legs.

Maglor deflected this attempt easily by claiming another deep kiss and straddling Elladan's thighs. He perched provocatively above the hard, hot, roll beneath his arse and wiggled it deep into the cleft as Elladan groaned down his throat in ecstatic misery.

"Valar, you're so eager, Elladan, you're going to come the instant I enter you," complained Maglor.

"When do you think that will be?"

"Tomorrow at dawn."

"What? That isn't funny," Elladan tried shifting his hips to make his cock rub against the warm flesh enveloping it, but Maglor's weight prevented him from doing much. The minstrel clenched his gluteal muscles and gave a little push with his bottom and Elladan began to wonder if he might come just so. At once he became alarmed, for he did not want another coupling to end with mutual but separate gratification. "Maglor!" he implored with real distress. "Not like this, saes. You know what I need."

"Hush, it is what I need, too," Maglor crooned, smitten all over again by this desperate plea for their union. "I shouldn't have teased you." He slid off and lay beside Elladan, holding him close, letting their legs and cocks get all entwined. Elladan rocked against him urgently, trying to stimulate them both. "I would have you now, but I don't want to rush it. I want to enjoy this, relish it."

"But I cannot wait," mourned Elladan. "I have been waiting a very long time."

"Have you?" He examined the frustrated expression filling the stormy grey eyes and smiled gently, kissing the hungry mouth that practically devoured his tongue, extricating it with care and many small kisses along the way, forestalling another grab at his erection. He ran a hand over the glossy black locks and hummed a soothing tune so that Elladan calmed. "I suppose for you it must seem so. Even though your years are few in number, they represent your entire life." He smiled in exultation. "So, you have been waiting your whole life for me. I wonder if you realise how erotic that is."

"Apparently, not erotic enough," griped Elladan. They had pleasured one another many times and while he enjoyed the intricate varieties of foreplay Maglor invented, now that there was nothing standing in the way of their joining, he would have it. "Have never wanted anything so much," he wailed softly.

"Be at peace," murmured Maglor, fascinated by such ardour, recalling the near terror that had gripped Elros on their first joining all those years ago.

The twin's Coll o Gwaith (Coming of Age) had been the occasion and then it had been Maglor so eager and impatient. The experience had been intense but ultimately the fear overshadowed Elros' joy and it wasn't until their third of fourth coupling that he'd begun to really crave the sensation. Suddenly he got up and stepped beyond the light into the shadows of the cave.

"Maglor?" Elladan was on his feet in seconds, worried about this development for the singer's gaze had taken him far away from their lover's nest and that was dangerous. No answer came. Had they come this close only to end apart? His heart gave a huge lurching beat; had his lie been discovered? "Do you not want me after all?" he called, fear and anguish colouring his words. "Are you playing with me, punishing me for not being"

Maglor did not let him finish, returning in a flash, silencing the bitter words with a deep, lingering kiss, refusing to let Elladan break away, snatching up his cock and pumping to subdue him, caressing his ears and plucking his nipples to heighten his excitement. He tore his mouth free and met the stunned visage, eyes alight with fiery passion, with equal fire.

"Be calm; I merely went to get something vital to this process." He grinned a wicked grin and held up a small flask of pale golden liquid as he casually hooked his foot behind Elladan's knees and jerked, sending him down hard save that the nest of pillows received him gently.

A curse escaped Elladan's lips and he immediately made to rise, determined to be taken as an equal, but a naked foot thumped him soundly on the chest and pushed him down, the weight of the elder elf holding him fast. His gaze travelled up the bent leg to its crux where the long red shaft stood proudly poised, dripping and ready. He swallowed, eyes continuing up the powerful body looming over him and he had no doubt that Maglor could indeed master him utterly. The idea excited him and his lips parted as he panted in expectation. Finally his vision connected with the singer's and they shared unspoken consent. With slow, deliberate movements Maglor uncapped the vial, poured the contents into his palm, and liberally rubbed the shimmering oil over his cock, working it slowly from root to crown in silent promise to fuck him well.

Elladan emitted a strangled plea, unable to even beg any longer, and almost at once Maglor fell upon him, flipping him over so that his face pressed down into the bedding. The heavy heat of the singer's rigid erection pressed tight against his rear. Instantly he yielded, quaking as slickened fingers probed him, digging in and spreading him. He moaned softly as Maglor shifted, positioning his cock at his entrance and holding it there. The tip of the penis poked him, felt enormous, wet and slick, and he gasped, staring over his shoulder as the pressure built. Maglor met his gaze and breached him with a strong thrust, sheathing himself to the hilt.

The pain was swift and hot like fire whittling him out and filling him up at the same time. Elladan gave a croaking cry of protest, struggled against it, couldn't get his mind past the realisation that he had Maglor's cock in him, the massive male organ impaling him, stretching him, owning him. A low, rumbling growl arose from behind him and the weight and power of the muscular body covered him, bearing Elladan down. Hands whisked the hair from his face and jerked his chin rearward; he was kissed passionately as the huge penis moved, pulling out and ramming him with incredible potency. The kiss broke as Maglor howled in ecstasy.

"Ai, Elros, Valar!"

He gripped the angular hips presented before him and pulled all the way out, wanting to watch as he inserted his cock back inside that tight virgin arse, impatiently shushing his beloved's plaintive complaint. He eased the shaft in slowly, slowly, moaning as the inexorable suction gripped it powerfully and drew him in, looking up to find Elladan's head bowed low as tremors rippled through his shoulders. With a glorious shout he pulled against the muscles holding him and shook with the sensation as every centimetre of his cock was enveloped in the tight compressing warmth.

"Valar I have wanted to fuck you for so long," he gasped out, setting to with vigour and great relish, rolling his hips on each penetration and watching avidly as Elros squirmed and bucked, first trying to get free and then eagerly started to push back. Maglor smiled, heart soaring; Elros was screaming his name over and over. It had never been this good, never, and the thought drove him to greater efforts, striving to stroke his lover's core with every thrust. He was going to spill in this incredible, unique, miraculous elf and possess him forever.

Elladan was lost, caught between the searing invasion and its swift jabs of scintillating, enervating light and the misery of hearing his beloved call out his uncle's name at this pivotal moment when they would be bound heart and soul. He wanted to make him stop but at the same time feared to; he could not lose this elf, not ever. It must be true; he must be Elros; he could be Elros. He would be Elros or whatever Maglor wanted, needed, or demanded of him; he would give anything, everything to get this love in return.

The cock driving into him was relentless, fucking him so hard he was seeing stars, spearing him with such exacting precision that Elladan struggled to maintain coherence. The sensation escalated to frenzied levels of anxious anticipation; he was about to come, felt the yearning, aching need gathering tight in his loins, but before he could give in a fearsome roar blasted his ears and a quick jet of warmth liquid coated him. His mind reeled as Maglor injected him with seed, exuberantly calling out Elros' name in love and triumph, exhilaration spurring the penis to delve deeper still and with more three potent lunges sent Elladan toppling into resplendent delirium. The very sun exploded somewhere near his heart and set him afire, transforming him into golden radiance, just like the living presence of the Silmaril.

When the light and the pounding ecstasy settled back into normal space and time, Elladan found himself cuddled tight against Maglor's heart, just as they always ended, the minstrel whispering his name over and over, awe and wonder in his voice as if the syllables were a mantra that would save his soul. He began singing, as he always did, never realising which name he'd been speaking or how much it hurt his chosen one. Yet Elladan could say nothing, for was this not the fate he'd chosen, freely and with his eyes wide open?

  
Elladan stood before the altar, gazing at the glorious white stone as his mate, exhausted at last from their ardent lovemaking, lay drifting in deep slumber. Maglor had taken him twice, teasing and toying with his body, making it do and feel things he'd not imagined possible, bringing him to such a paradise of elation and completion that he could not regret his choice. Even now his body sang with tingling delight, though he was rather sore in places he had not previously thought possible to bruise. It was nothing; he loved the renowned minstrel and was loved in return. What did it matter if Maglor believed he was Elros? With time he would make him understand and all would be well, everything would be forgiven. Once completely healed of his grief, Maglor would see him for himself, Elladan of Imladris, and love him still.

That, he knew beyond doubt, was what he wanted. He did not want to hear his beloved call out for his long dead uncle during their lovemaking. He did not want to hear the constant references to events from a past so distant he could not even imagine it. How to achieve this, that was Elladan's quandary and the puzzle would not let him rest, not yet. He had risen to peer at the magnificent creation of living light, deeply enthralled by its potent beauty, lost in its manifold planes and prisms. He let his soul wander freely there and poured out his troubles, encouraged by the pure, bright light, certain the SIlmaril knew the truth about him but still wanted him, needed him as it needed Maglor.

Therein lay his hope, for surely the gem would help him know what was right to do, guide him properly so that he would not lose Maglor and yet manage to clear his conscience. The stone soothed and placated and, when he took it up, showed him scenes of the life he had chosen, and he found it comforting and his heart eased. Within the images a persistent thought flickered into his awareness, a notion spawned by the gem itself, and he latched onto it and to it he would hold tenaciously in the days ahead: a year. He would give the gem a year to heal the noble singer, using his love to do it. After that he would reveal all, make him understand, and suffer the consequences, whatever they might be.

It was noble and good, what he was doing. The Silmaril must be guarded, its sanctifying grace vital to the remaking of Arda when the time came and the Last Battle ravaged the world. Maglor had been chosen to do that but now his grieving heart could stand no more; he could not do it alone. Elros could never be returned to him, not with all the powers of the Valar combined, but Elladan could love him and love him better. He would find a way to make it work between them, not only for the sake of his captive heart, but for Maglor and for all those innocents who had given their lives for this pretty pebble.

Still naked, he left the chamber and ascended the stairs, finding his way to Maglor's study. There he penned a hasty note to Arantar, sealed it, and returned to Maglor, rousing him. Whatever lies he must live with, he would not act in secret behind his mate's back. If Maglor wondered about his reasons for sending a missive so suddenly, he never had chance to voice them for Elladan gave a full accounting that left nothing hidden. Except, of course, the reason for the subterfuge.

"I've become a liar," he said quietly, "but I don't care. I believe, firmly believe, that within a year this is going to be healed, this fractured life we share. If I am to be your mate, I will find a way to win your forgiveness from my people. I will not hide you forever; you are part of me."

"Forever is a long time," sighed Maglor, "but I understand you. I will not stand in your way. If you think you can effect this pardon, I would welcome it. I would have your parents' approval and permission, if possible."

"This note is not to them," explained Elladan. "It is too soon for that. I write to Arantar, bidding him lie for me. I need more time."

"And who is this elf that would so easily sully his honour for you?" Maglor demanded, jealousy suddenly making him possessive and he reached for Elladan's slack penis, fondling it and pulling on it to draw his newly bound mate to him, crushing their lips in a claiming kiss.

Elladan came away smiling and besotted with pride, shaking his head. "Not an elf, but a kinsman. One of the many progeny of Tar Minyatur. Arantar fostered at Imladris, as have all the King's heirs, and is my foster brother."

"As well as your grandchild removed by many generations? Extraordinary," Maglor remarked and played with Elladan's rising cock, eager to get back inside him, and summoned an Avarin page. Judiciously standing in front of Elladan's arousal, he bade the servant carry the letter to one of the messengers across the small harbour. That they were both naked and sporting sprouting penises did not seem to phase the elf in the least. In fact, he gave them both a thorough appraisal, leaning sideways so to scrutinise his master's new lover, and smiled a discrete invitation that made Elladan's jaw drop.

"What?" Maglor asked, seeing his aghast expression. "You didn't think I remained celibate for four thousand years, did you?"

  
Another winding staircase. This time they ascended on steps carpeted in thick wool died a deep, rich red, steadied weary bodies on the handrail finished in polished brass. The graceful open spiral arose from the main entrance to the castle, now permanently sealed: an oval rotunda tiled in marble and panelled in teak between pillars of granite, the windows barred behind ornate wrought iron over more stained glass, the scenes depicting events that were meaningless to anyone who had never lived in the Blessed Realm. Bright afternoon sunlight painted the stone with a mosaic of colour and warmth. Arms draped around waists, pressed close side by side and temple to temple, the lovers moved in step trailing the Avarin page. Elladan had insisted first on an introduction to the boldly insolent servant and then on retrieving his leggings from the cavern, not entirely comfortable with being ogled by D'râk (Wolf). Maglor submitted to covering his lower half in sympathy with his beloved. They climbed two stories to a landing that deposited them at the centre of a long, broad hall, doors opening here and there on either side, and Maglor bent to kiss Elladan lightly, smiling.

"D'râk will show you to your rooms, beloved."

"I have rooms? Where are yours?"

"Just at the end of the corridor. You may join me there but go and see the suite prepared for you first."

Maglor's eyes were shining with such anticipation there could be no doubt he had readied this apartment with great attention and hoped to please his new mate. Elladan could do no less than smile and accept the gift, though he was a little disconcerted to be so suddenly parted from his lover so soon after their bonding. He followed D'râk and the page was smiling with nearly the same conspiratorial glee; obviously a mutual effort, then, to install him in a manner which would be to his liking, but Elladan felt a bit disoriented by it all. What he really wanted was to curl up beside Maglor and rest for a time, then make love again and maybe have a bath.

"Here, Eldâ-Târa-khil Ndêro, the key," D'râk said, voice friendly enough but his eyes roved avidly over Elladan's chest, noting each love-bite his master had left there.

"A key?" Elladan frowned, taking it: a huge ornate brass instrument with a great red tassel hanging from its filigreed end. He was surprised but the servant's blatant interest disturbed him more and he decided it was time to address both issues. It was imperative to make his position plain to D'râk. "Do I need to lock my rooms here? And what did you call me just now? I will not have nicknames or pet-names from anyone, unless Maglor wants to give me one."

"Ah, bâ! Nay!" D'râk bowed deeply, face crimson. "No need to lock things here, no need. B'rôna Kâno has kept it so until now. Only to clean, I go inside. The name is your name: Elf-man and title of honour for this day only: bridegroom. I ask forgiveness; it is just that B'rôna Kâno has said you liked, used to like, in the past, for more attention than he could give sometimes. He was not always well in those days, so I am told. I was not born then."

Elladan's brows went high. "By attention do you mean sex?" he demanded, and at the servant's nod of assent his cheeks coloured. "And are you meant to supply that extra attention to me?" Another dip of the head, D'râk plainly upset to have given offence and equally disappointed to have the idea voiced in such strident and disapproving tones. "That is not to be," stated Elladan succinctly. "Maglor is fine and strong now; your assistance will not be required. And I can clean my own room and have been able to dress myself without aid since I was two," he added for good measure, just in case D'râk planned on hovering near and leering at him whilst performing these domestic chores. "And I will be called by my right name, which is Elladan."

"Aye, Hîren," D'râk could not meet the young Lord's eyes, worried now that he had displeased his master's new mate. B'rôna Kâno's wrath was never slight or short-lived, once awakened. "I am sorry."

"Aye, well then, that is settled," Elladan grumbled as he fit the key into the lock and turned it. A new thought occurred to him. "Are you in the habit of giving such attention to your master?"

The poor page would have rather been tossed out the window than answer and visibly shrank away, giving the faintest of nods and raising terrified eyes for the briefest of glances. "Not for many months, though," he assured, "not since you came back."

"That is a wise answer, D'râk," intoned Elladan sourly and pushed open the door.

He stepped over the threshold and froze, a gasp leaving his lungs as he took in the sitting room of the suite. It was opulent in a manner he had never beheld except in paintings, renderings of the homes of the Noldorin Princes during the First-age. The space was bright and more than ample with a high ceiling and tall windows. The furnishings were heavy in dark wood, lavishly ornamented with gracefully turned legs, artfully carved relief, decadently soft upholstery, beaded and embroidered and embellished. The rugs were thick and expertly crafted, the detailed scenes of hunting and forest life masterful, the tasselled fringe in creamy white silk. Paintings adorned the walls, landscapes of the area and one of Hithaeglir, many of the sea, wild and violent under a lead-coloured sky. One was a portrait and at first Elladan mistook the two elves for himself and his brother, realising as soon as his feet had carried him closer that it had to be his father and uncle instead. An uneasy feeling assailed his stomach and he turned from it abruptly. He could not tell one from the other.

There was a desk and he went to it, finding the padded leather surface unmarred, tooled in gilt scrollwork around its borders, a standard inkwell and quills ready for use. A brass seal stood beside a fresh stick of wax and he reached for it, turning it to see, dreading what he would find. He blinked; they were his initials, his seal: double E's beneath the crest of the House of Eärendil. Heart pounding, he set it back down and backed away. They all had the same initials, the same seal, all of them: him, his brother, his father, and his uncle. How was anyone to tell one from the other? How was he?

D'râk was babbling happily over the amenities of the apartment and Elladan crossed to him at the fireplace, disregarding his words as he looked over the objects on the mantle: a hunting horn, a small penknife, a leather pouch crossed by a smoking pipe. With an inarticulate exclamation he took it up the briar wood bowl, examining the interior to find it stained dark with a fine varnish of charred carbon, the result of frequent use.

"Just as you left it, except the leaf in the pouch is fresh, of course. B'rôna Kâno has me replace it every week without fail. How wise he is!" D'râk remarked, smiling to see the young master's stunned amazement in finding his belongings intact and so well cared for.

Elladan stared at him, incredulous, and put the pipe back, hands shaking.   
A cold chill ran down his spine and he hastened from the hearth, almost running for the inner door, throwing it wide to enter a sun-bright sleeping room, a massive canopy bed draped in royal purple velvet dominating the space. The mattress was covered with a white silk counterpane embroidered in golden threads and the pillows propped against the headboard proudly displayed the colourful crest of the Mariner's House.

He was in Elros' suite.

Clothes were laid out at the foot of the bed: a long, beltless robe of midnight blue satin, soft black silk trousers, no shirt or shoes. A dressing table held combs and brushes and a mirror; Elladan had the bizarre notion that if he went and looked into it, he would not see his own face but that of Elros. The idea seized his mind and became a certainty. Panicked, he backed out of the room, stomach rolling with nausea, head pounding with the sound of his racing pulse.

He gave a hoarse cry and fled the apartment, making it to the railed balcony overlooking the stairwell. Gripping it tight he groaned, leaning over as he fought the urge to vomit. He was dimly aware of D'râk tearing past him down the hall, shouting for his master, and seconds later Maglor was there.

"Elladan! Beloved?" Concerned and frightened, he wrapped his arms around Elladan and drew him from the banister. He attempted to move toward the suite just exited but his lover balked.

"Death!" Elladan gasped out, eyes bulging in horror. "Why did you give me those rooms? It is another museum, a room filled with his things, with only the past where everything is dead, all turned to dust Ages ago. I cannot bear it!" he railed, clutching the minstrel's long black tresses.

"Aye, Elros!" Maglor gathered him close, distraught for he had not thought this would be the result of his gesture. He had hoped the sight of the rooms, carefully and lovingly preserved for all this time, would stand as a testament to his unfailing love and devotion. Instead it represented a choice rejected, and obviously feared, in this life. He drew a sharp breath. _~Perhaps in the first one, too. Did I drive him to so bleak a decision?~_ "I did not mean for this to be upsetting; it was meant to honour you."

"I just want to stay with you; can I not abide in your rooms? Do you not want me there?" Elladan felt like his world was coming apart and just knew, without any doubt, that if he slept in that suite he truly would awaken as Elros. The idea terrified him for already his identity, never quite so solid in the first place, seemed to be slipping away. "I don't want to be him!" he wailed, burying his face against the warmth of a firm chest where a strong heart beat a frantic, anxious pace. "I just want to be Elladan, please. Can't you love me as Elladan?" He lifted imploring eyes and was immediately answered, his lips covered and caressed with loving tenderness. He opened for them and welcomed the distraction of Maglor's able tongue.

"I do love you, Elladan," the minstrel insisted, peering into the wild, anguished eyes, imparting all the sincerity his heart held into the simple words. "Come, you will stay with me; there is plenty of room. It will be my joy to keep you there." Gently he propelled his new mate down the hall, worried for he was still more or less holding him up. He motioned to D'râk. "Bring his clothing; add it to my wardrobe."

"Valar! I will not wear those things!" Elladan sought to twist free from his lover's hold but was quickly caught fast and willingly submitted, too exhausted to fight.

"Nay, the clothing is all newly made. I commissioned the tailors in Lindon for a new wardrobe for you. Please, they are for you, made for you just weeks ago. Nothing is from the First-age or your previous life with me," he reassured, coaxing his lover back into motion, smiling kindly as he tried a light joke. "Besides, all your old clothes would be out of style now. I couldn't very well have that."

Elladan stared at him a second and then relaxed, the weak comedy finally making it through his addled brain. Next he flushed in chagrin, thinking of the display he'd just put on, and mentally winced to think of the servant observing his breakdown. Well, perhaps it was best this way; now Maglor must know the truth and would have to either accept him or reject him. A sharp stab of fear assailed his heart and he clutched tighter to the arm supporting him, afraid now to force the subject lest the latter be his lot.

By now they had passed through Maglor's sitting room and entered the bedchamber. Elladan sat hard on the cushiony mattress and buried his head in his hands, a low moan escaping him. Callused fingertips massaged his neck and shoulders, a sweet voice began singing, and at last he calmed, breathing in deeply and finding the air filled with the scent of his beloved. He raised his head and offered a sheepish grin.

"I dare say I acted rather like a fool just now," he began.

"Nay. I was wrong to try and make you stay there. I know how much it bothers you to compare your life now to then, for nothing remains in your memory of those early days. Can you forgive me?" Maglor knelt on the floor in front of his new husband and as was his habit, took up one of Elladan's hands, pressing it between his own.

"There is nothing to forgive," insisted Elladan, guilt gathering around his agitated soul.

"You are generous in spirit," spoke Maglor, leaning in for a quick peck on the cheek, "and I want to prove that I can do this right. There is something missing which our union ordains we should have. I did not ask you before, Elladan, but would you consent to wear my ring?"

Elladan's eyes brightened, for here at last was proof that their bond was real and it was to him the singer's soul was bound. Then his happy smile faltered. "It isn't the same"

"No, pen vain," Maglor interrupted, a peculiar look in his eyes as he studied Elladan. "You would not have one before, though I offered, for you had not yet made your choice, mankind or elf-kind. What say you now?"

"But was it made for him, then, or for me, now?" came Elladan's querulous demand, staring into his husband's unreadable expression.

"Valar, the things you say! You are he; he is you. I have had them a long time, yes, I freely admit it. Does this mean you will refuse me again?"

"No," said Elladan, horrified that he had almost turned aside his beloved's token of fidelity. "I will wear it gladly and with pride, but let me see it. If his name is there"

"Ai! No, there is just the traditional inscription: Uir (Eternity)." Maglor rose and went to his dressing table, opening a drawer and retrieving a small leather-clad box. He brought it to Elladan and set it in his hands. "Look and see if that is to your liking, my skittish heart-mate. Mind you, we are already bound forever whether you will wear it or no."

That made Elladan feel much better and he smiled. Yes, they were mated and would be for all time. Maglor could not reject him now. He opened the box, prepared to see a wide golden band, plain and unadorned, and instead caught his breath, for the article was indeed created from the precious yellow metal, but plain could never be used to describe it. The wedding ring was intricately carved in a swirling pattern of open-work that recalled the curling crests of breaking waves, a dusting of glimmer and shine coating the rigid curves, gleaming like the dust of diamonds, the sparkle and flash too similar to the living light enshrined below to be anything else. Elladan turned it fully and then tipped it to see the engraving, smiling over it. He raised exultant eyes to his husband's and held it out to him.

"Put it on me," he insisted, holding forth his right hand, heart swelling with unbounded jubilation as Maglor slipped it over his index finger and settled it snugly behind his knuckle. The fit was perfect and he could not take his eyes from it until the singer lifted his chin and demanded a kiss to seal the moment.

"We are one," Maglor whispered, devotion and exhilaration filling his ancient eyes as he drank in Elladan's euphoric expression.

"Aye, we are one," answered Elladan, taking up the box again for in it was a matching band for Maglor and this he passed over the minstrel's right index finger as well, hand trembling somewhat as the metal slid over the long, elegant digit, seating easily in the correct place. It winked and gleamed at him and he laughed, truly happy and at ease, and boldly claimed his husband's mouth, pressing him down to lie upon the bed, eager to replay the moment of their union, this time demanding the dominant role.

Maglor permitted this, submitting to all Elladan wished to do, and enjoyed immensely the eagerness with which he was disrobed, the skill with which he was primed for penetration, Elladan rolling him to his side and laving his anal opening with his tongue, bathing the sensitive skin with the sweetest kisses, probing with a tightly rolled tongue-tip, spearing into the tight canal repeatedly with the red oral muscle, pushing it as far as he could extend it, which was far enough to impress the singer. The only thing he did of his own accord was to remove Elladan's leggings and drag the ellon's body closer to him so that he could suck and lap his mate's erection, making sure it was slick and wet.

The moment of penetration was deeply moving for them both, with Elladan reaching up to entwine his fingers with Maglor's, wonder and awe filling the grey eyes he trained upon the singer. They were quiet but for the deep and regular respiration the strenuous exercise required, Elladan almost leaping forward as soon as the hot tip of his shaft met the wet, puckered hole, boring in with steady, careful force, watching for any signs of distress, grinning hugely as he found only encouragement and passionate impatience displayed on his husband's face.

When his second thrust struck Maglor's prostate precisely, both became lost in the sensation, the singer massaging his mate's ears whenever they came within reach, Elladan straining to kiss and lick as much of the glorious body beneath him he could. Delighted to find his husband so responsive and so compliant, Elladan worked to make the experience the best the elder elf had yet enjoyed in all the Ages of time he'd thus far been alive. He was able to draw out the coupling, his pace slow and regular, his technique skilled but not practised, adjusted with every motion to his lover's somatic cues, missing not a tremble or a twinge, a sigh or a moan.

As he neared the fiery peak of the joining he groped for Maglor's cock and found the minstrel's fingers already coaxing the instrument toward their finale. Smiling, he wrapped his own around them and together they stroked the long erection to spurting fruition, Maglor groaning deeply, eyes rolling shut as the orgasm rolled through him. It was more than enough to bring Elladan to cataclysmic completion, frantically thrusting as his seed poured into the clenching bowels, crying out Maglor's name. He collapsed atop his mate in limp, ecstatic fulfilment, sucking in great heaving breaths, and smiled as he kissed the equally struggling breast beneath his cheek.

"Valar, I love you," he said, extracting his exhausted organ as he rolled to spoon up beside his beloved, throwing an arm over the hard belly, not caring at all about the sticky residue of passion smeared across it.

"That is good, since I've been in love with you since the first time I beheld you on the beach that night. Ai, Elladan, you love me truly this time," sighed Maglor, absolutely sated and content. He caressed the dark head resting on his shoulder and grinned as Elladan fairly glowed with pride to have his prowess extolled. "You have done that before," remarked the minstrel.

"Aye," Elladan gave a self-conscious shrug, blushing. "Not often, though."

"That was obvious, but not in an unwelcome way," assured Maglor, "and yet during those previous encounters, never would you submit? Why so?"

"I cannot say," Elladan smoothed his hand over the curve of the pectoral opposite his face, testing the resilience of the dark red nipple. "I never wanted that before. In fact, the idea of penetration, of being possessed, appalled me. There is only one person, besides you, I would trust on that level and with him I wanted it. But he" Elladan broke off, uncertain how this would be taken, wanting to speak of it, and was surprised when Maglor supplied all the details himself.

"Ai! History repeats: 'twas your brother. He rejected you as before, no doubt with equal scorn and disgust for he abhors the kind of love we crave and would find intimacy of that nature between blood so close an abomination." He sighed and pulled Elladan into a tight embrace. "He hurt you again, just like before."

"He said he didn't know me, that I was not his brother."

"I would punish him were he here; I _will_ punish him if ever we meet again," growled Maglor.

"You are not disgusted?" Elladan lifted anxious eyes to study the grimacing face.

"Of course not. I had twin brothers, remember. They shared many lovers between them, but truly only trusted and loved one another. I am certain they were bound soul to soul, though they never spoke of such."

"Valar." Elladan was glad for another example, relieved not to be the only one ever to have desired such a union. He sighed and snuggled closer. "But Muindoren reacted in anger and shock, for I was trying to win him from his beloved, a fine Lady who truly does hold his heart. I think his words arose from his anguish over that as much as from disgust for what I asked of him."

"You always defend him, no matter how harsh his words or unwarranted his punishments. There will be no more of that now that you are mine. He encouraged you to choose the Gift of Men, told you he would rather see you dead than know you were my mate. I blame him for all that happened, for that put the idea in your head, and when the first troubles came between us, you reacted impulsively, as is your nature, but the consequences were permanent." He shifted to better see Elladan's eyes and judge how this speech was being received, grateful to find distress but not panic and terror. "You are still impulsive, but I have seen signs of restraint and reflection. Perhaps he is better as a father than a brother."

"Adar is very strict," Elladan was abruptly struck by the mismatch in their conversation, realising with cold fatalism that he had just led Maglor to believe he'd sought to couple with his own father, yet could not bring himself to declare the truth. "He despises the kind of love I need and calls it immoral and degenerate." He paused. "Nay, I must attribute any improvement in my mastery of patience and thoughtful consideration to my tutor and mentor, Lord Erestor."

Maglor's eyes grew wide and he smiled with wonder and what could only be proud delight. "Erestor had the raising of you?" he laughed, long and loud and rolled over atop Elladan, kissing him playfully all down his neck and over his face. "Eru is just and has an apt sense of humour, then. There is none better, no other would take such care to prepare for me the perfect mate."

"You know Erestor?"

"Aye, my dear young husband, I know him well. He is my son."


	8. Part Eight - Erestor

**Part Eight - Erestor**  
Erestor stood in the bleak and heavy rain soaked and streaming with rivulets that ran down his cloak and fell from the ends of his slick and flattened hair, the fat drops battering him with loud, abrasive violence, muting the sounds of every other element in the natural world, all silenced by the pouring deluge descending in endless furor from the leaden sky. He stood apart, having moved away from his escort, galloped ahead, concerned the instant he'd spied the lone messenger on the horizon, easily spotted in this featureless, sloping land of marshes, mires, and empty space. Unclaimed and inhospitable, these storm-lashed and sun-scorched lands pitted with bottomless bogs and foetid swamps, these Ettenmoors. None would come this way without purpose, and the only purpose in coming this way was to reach him.

The breed of the courier was enough to invoke alarm for seldom did Avarin elves venture from their chosen enclaves these days, though once wanderers had they been. The communication could only be from someone in Lindon and the most likely candidate was Enerdhil. His first note had been bad: Elladan added to the delegation to Círdan's council; should he reveal the family secret just in case? Erestor had written back, giving consent, but when Círdan dismissed Elladan that became unnecessary. Then Arantar's missive arrived, crafted in carefully chosen words devoid of overt alarm and underpinned with anxiety and fear. That had been sufficient to initiate his departure from Greenwood and now, barely over Hithaeglir, a third letter. Erestor knew it must likewise address the unexpected and uncharacteristic actions of Elladan, unabashedly his favourite between the twins.

Yet he had not guessed it would be written in the young warrior's slanted scrawl, penned by Elladan himself.

He saw the date, three weeks past, and his heart clenched with visceral, undefined dread; the letter from Arantar had been sent just ten days prior and nearly a month had passed in transport. He broke the seal and in the cacophonous droning of the endless deluge read the words, the rattling patter of rain on parchment the only other sound. That and the phantom voice within his mind imitating Elladan's tones and patterns of inflection.

 _'Suilad, Erestor, mellon vrun,_ (old friend)

_'I share with you my greatest joy; you, who besides Elrohir have been my dearest friend and confidant. It is not the first secret I have given into the safety of your generous and open heart, mellonen, but it is by far the most important._

_'But see! Now that I write this, I realise there is more than one thing to share. I have chosen, as has Elrohir, to remain among the First-born. Even Elrohir does not yet know, but I could not explain the rest without telling you. Mayhap you have heard, though, for I blurted it out quite suddenly in front of Arantar, Enerdhil, and the guards. Ah well, then I was unhappy and behaving like a child._

_'Now I am no longer the shy and troubled youth hiding behind his brother's face, fearful lest anyone discover what he is. I have come down to Himling Cove and found here my heart's desire. We are bound, he and I, and you know him. I hope you will approve, Erestor, for it is Maglor, your Adar. It would be too hard, knowing we will never be accepted by my father, if you reject our union, too. Aye, it is done; we are one._

_'There is more that I cannot write. Only face to face can I reveal the burden that is mine alone. Would that you were here for never have I needed your counsel more. Come, if you may, as soon as you may, and I swear to heed your advice for once._

_'Be happy for me, I pray, and for him also for I do bring him joy and he was fading. Now he is not and we share the burden with which he was entrusted. Say that you will come and celebrate with me, for I have no other I can tell and we are truly family now._

_With love and respect,_   
_Elladan'_

Love and respect. Erestor stared, the words resounding through his brain, their meaning poignant and indelible, for they were not mere pleasantries, not to Elladan. Heart's desire. Bound. Elladan bound to a kin-slayer, to Maglor, to his father. He read the note again; shook his head in denial; it could not be real. His father loved Elros and no other, refused all efforts to distract him from that doomed obsession. Ages had passed and still he mourned. That being so, what to make of Elladan's jubilant announcement?

Erestor gave an inarticulate groan of anguished resignation for there was only one answer. Should Maglor meet him, the Noldorin Prince might believe in his grief-riddled, deranged mind that Elladan was Elros. That was no surprise; Erestor had marked often how similar the second generation of Eärendil's twins was to the first, in both appearance and personality. Still, to have expressed this love and desire openly, to have wooed Elladan and won him? Enerdhil had warned of this very possibility in his letter, describing Elladan's morose and woebegone mood. How had he put it? ' _Given his confused state of mind and wounded soul, anyone paying him loving attention is likely to turn his head and gain his favour.'_ The conclusion was inescapable. Somehow, some way, Elladan had willingly assumed Elros' identity.

Admittedly, Erestor had worried over a brief entanglement with Maglor, should the two actually meet, and thus his decision to go find Elladan once Arantar's letter made it plain he was not at Annúminas. Such a romance could only end in more hurt and betrayal, but from that an elf would recover in time. Erestor never imagined a bonding, a permanent knot that could not be untied, a union of spirit and mind as well as body, each becoming a vital part of the other's faer. From such a bond there was no retreat, save to madness and to Mandos.

_~Nay! This cannot be true.~_

Yet it could be nothing else, for he of all people knew the depth of Maglor's obsession with Elros. Even his naneth's memory, the wife who had stood by her Noldorin Prince in the face of such horrendous deeds, fought and died defending him, his son, and his bloody Oath, even such a steadfast heart held no allure once the singer's sight recognised the bold and comely warrior his grey-eyed foundling child had grown to be. He renounced the wife confined to Mandos, melted down the golden wedding bands to forge new ones, and forgot her. He would have Elros and no other and took him as soon as law permitted.

For how many centuries had he hated both of them for that betrayal? Erestor could not remember now; in some ways he still did. To give Elros credit, he had refused to accept the ring, refused to acknowledge any permanent bond, holding off until he made his choice. Erestor had absolved him then, of course, finally comprehending how detrimental the relationship had been. Yet it was long before he could look upon his father and longer still before he could forgive him. Eventually, he realised his naneth deserved better and would find it when she was given life anew, or the Valar were cruel. He was satisfied to know that Maglor suffered and suffered unceasingly, his grief wearing at his soul while his new Oath to the Silmaril did not permit any such end. There was justice in that for him and for his mother's memory.

The script was running down the page, scrubbed from the coarse fibres by the relentless rain when Erestor snapped back to reality, hastily shaking it to rid it of the pool of fluid collected in its curled cup, pressing it uselessly to his sopping cloak as though to dry it, bending over it to prevent the precipitation from stealing this precious trust, erasing that devastating secret. Erestor jogged back to his horse and mounted, tucked the letter inside his tunic against his bare skin, and set off at a canter for the only shelter visible: a bedraggled cluster of sickly willows leaning awry as though pushed hard by a brutal gale.

His escort followed but only to say they must leave him now and turn back, for the Wood Elves had no love for such open expanses. The messenger had already retreated. They all rode homeward but in opposite directions. He scarcely saw them go, too busy reading the letter again, crouched now under the arbour of dripping branches, searching for something within his pockets as he did, something dear, a memento, a treasure he was never without. It was where it should be, folded carefully and slipped beneath the leather cover of his notecase. The rain stopped. He removed the ancient velum sheaf, carefully opening it out, smoothing it gently over his knee. Faint and frail the words looked now but four thousand years were bound to do that.

_'Erestor,_

_'What can I say to you? Apologies are fruitless, accusations unfounded. I have tried to mend him, you know it is so. Is it my fault that my heart is sore from the effort? I cannot bear to see him thus and now I have learned all my love, all my sorrow, all my determination was for nothing._

_'It is not for me he stays; that much is a lie. Perhaps he does love me, a little, but he loves something else far more. I have found out his guilty secret; I caught them together, him and that vile stone. How can something so steeped in horror, death, and brutality look so pristine and innocent?_

_'Do you know about the stone? Have you seen it? If so and you did not tell me, well, it was a cruel thing to do to me. Yet if that be the case, I deem you had reason to fall to that a sin of omission. I forgive you such betrayal and beg you will finally forgive me mine. I was as a son to you once and looked to you as a father; I would see that love in your eyes again, before the end, rather than fury and disgust._

_'He serves the stone, Erestor, but I will not. That is too much to ask. I lost everything because of it and now he would beg me stay and help him tend it. If you had seen him with it, practically making love to it even as it burned his flesh, you would comprehend my fury and my anguish._

_'I want no part of this anymore. I am sick and weary and yet have not even seen my hundredth year. It is impossible to bear this pain eternally. Tell Elrond he was right; I am better off dead. So I shall be, in time, for I have chosen my father's people and will live whatever span of years the Valar see fit to grant._

_'You will have to explain it to him; that I have no strength to do. By the time you read this I will already be gone for Ossë has agreed to aid me._

_Namarië, mellon vell_   
_Elros'_

He drew a great gasp of a breath, feeling empty, hollow and vacant as though he'd not breathed in days, desperate to keep the void from filling with sorrow. Erestor held the two letters, glancing from one to the other, one faded by rain and the other by age, wondering how they could be so similar and so different; how they could both be in his hands. Why was it he in possession of these heart wrenching secrets and not Elrond? He was shocked, seeing them side by side, to note the way Elladan's handwriting favoured his uncle's, forgetting that each had learned the same style of penmanship in the schoolroom, from him no less. Now it seemed a strange and chilling portent for Erestor was unable to prevent his memory from supplying another comparison: Elladan's hope and happiness mimicked Elros' feelings in his first year with Maglor.

_~That one year they had together before the War of Wrath and the recovery of the jewels.~_

Eärendil's son had remained forty all told, refusing to desert Maglor in his madness, determined to salvage the failing singer, the fallen prince, the last of the sons of Feänor. He would have stayed for eternity, but for that stone.

_~In this, too, they are alike. Elladan will not abandon Adar, either.~_

Yet it was the ways in which the two differed that made the august seneschal sob and drop his head in misery and shame, for somehow he had failed them both. Entrusted with two sons of the heart, Erestor allowed both to fall to ruin rather than raising them up to redemption. Where was his error? He could not see it, try though he might, for what had proved so detrimental in the first case he had abandoned in the second, but the outcome was the same. Only their means to tragedy differed, taking opposite paths to the same destination.

Elros chose the Gift of Men, Elladan the light of the First-born. Elros refused to bind his soul to Maglor's, never quite as lost in love as the ancient minstrel hoped he was. Elladan was proudly wearing his bonding ring by now. Elros rejected the lure of the stone; Elladan gladly accepted the Silmaril for the sake of his mate. Tar Minyatur escaped the accursed doom of the Noldorin Princes and built a life and a legacy that would linger long after the days of the elves were forgotten. Yet the price had been his very life and he was gone, never to return. What hope could there be for Elladan? He could no more reverse his decision to remain among the Quendi than he could make his heart learn to hate.

_~Love and respect.~_

It was all Elladan had ever wanted. Not riches or power or renown among his peers. He had no desire to become a legendary hero praised through time for Ages to come, but great was his need for acceptance, for appreciation, for abiding devotion and commitment, for love and respect. Was that so much to ask of the Powers, of Iluvatar? Must he pay such a heavy price, the breaking of his true and loyal heart, the debasement of his noble and honourable character?

Erestor stood, striding out from under the stunted trees, pacing across the soggy ground in an agony of frustration and futility, for what could he do? How could he mend it and prevent this tragedy? It was done, their union sealed, their souls forever entwined. He halted, exhaling a bitter groan, and passed a hand over his aching eyes. How would he find the words to speak this news to Elrond and Celebrian? He shook his head, sadly folding away the two missives. That, to quote Elros, he had not the strength to do. Nay, there was no point in racing to Imladris for in such a situation not even the power of Vilya would avail Elrond and his lady-wife succour. Elladan was lost to them.

"Indorion nín, (my heart-son) had I but been observant I might have aided you. I should have taken you with me to Greenwood where the distraction you so needed would never had led to this. Forgive me."

Erestor spoke aloud as he moved through the tall wet grass. He whistled for his mare and set forth again, his pace frantic and his soul awash in guilt and grief. He would go to Himling Cove and give Elladan this brief moment of joy and pride in his chosen life. He would shelter him as much as possible from Maglor's rage when the truth came out. He would get him on a ship to Aman. It was the least he could do.

 

 

  
Now came the days of bliss, for the lovers left all discussion and remembrance behind. A new world unfolded before them, a small insulated kingdom bounded by the endless ocean and the ragged spur of the Blue Mountains, boasting of boundless joy, as expansive and glorious within their separate reality as the Blessed Realm was for the Valar. Within this secluded, protected dominion their love grew and blossomed, a golden and perfect flower with a sweet, exotic scent that suffused the very air of their desolate island home.

Elladan once more resigned himself to his false identity, assured by Maglor's devotion that time would provide the answer to this quandary. That the mentor he respected and loved was the child of his beloved soul-mate, Elladan accepted with wonder and gratitude. At least he could share his joy with one person who would understand his devotion to the notorious Noldorin Prince and the lie that bound them together. The second letter he wrote was to Erestor, revealing his joyous secret and begging him to keep it as he would protect the seneschal's, for none in Imladris knew Erestor was the son of a kin-slayer, save Elrond and Celebrian.

That the Silmaril had been rescued from the deeps by Ossë, the very Maia who had thrown him into this consuming passion, this made sense as well. Ossë had his part to play, though Elladan still could not say he trusted the sea-spirit. He was nonetheless an ally, for surely he would help keep Maglor from finding out the truth until Elladan could be certain the minstrel would survive the subterfuge wrought upon his heart and the bond they shared would survive the strain caused by revealing his lie.

Maglor set aside his iconic image of Elros, a heroic figure of young love tragically lost forever because of the curse that ravaged the House of Feänor and destroyed every good thing he and his brothers sought to achieve. He focused on Elladan, young, vibrant, and present, as vital a component to his life as the air he breathed and the water he drank. There was so much to learn of him and while he kept his thoughts to himself, the contrasts between the elf Elros had once been and the warrior he was now were striking, exhilarating, confusing, and sometimes frustrating. Yet there was no denying the discovery of all these traits, virtues, and paradoxes was both thrilling and fascinating. It was like taking a new lover without the fear and guilt of betraying his love for Elros.

He gazed in longing on the recumbent form of his resplendent mate stretched out upon the deck of the skiff, the feeling so intense it was almost pain. Elladan lay on his back adrift in light reverie, a fair faint smile the only thing he wore, one arm crooked beneath his head, the other draped over his midriff. Elladan _~Elros~_ apparently worshipped Anor in this lifetime where in the previous he had delighted in the stars. Now he adored nothing more than lying naked beneath the caress of Arien's golden rays, basking in the effusive warmth of the early summer sun. Such blatant temptation was impossible to ignore or master; Maglor must have him. Yet the surf was high and he could not let go the tiller to fondle the long, lax penis resting there upon a muscular thigh.

Ah, to take it up and cradle it within his fingers, delighting in the softness of it, relishing the heat of the skin as it filled with blood under his manipulation, enthralled by the hardness he could so quickly induce. Or maybe he would devour it and Elladan would awaken to find his cock deep down his husband's throat, crying out that lovely, ragged shout of needy desire, desperate to see the organ slide slowly from his beloved's lips, wet and slick and red, only to beg for it to be swallowed again.

Maglor groaned in frustration and decided to take a chance. He stretched out his bare foot, managed to grasp a length of hithlain between his toes, and dragged it to him. In it he made a loop, secured the tiller, and then cautiously got down on hands and knees. Quietly he crept toward his slumbering mate, eyes locked on the exposed genitals and the nest of dark brown curls surrounding them, the boat rising and falling as the rolling swells passed beneath her. Patiently, stealthily he stalked closer until at last he crouched above the delectable body, poised to swoop down and act out his fantasy. Maglor heard a soft sigh and raised his eyes to find Elladan smiling playfully.

"What took you so long?" he asked.

"Oh, so you are expecting some attention, my dear young love?" retorted Maglor. He stood, cock bobbing with the motion, and peered down at Elladan, hands on hips.

"I am. Do you not desire to give it to me?" His gaze swept provocatively over the lordly elf, pausing at the tell-tale proof of Maglor's interest, and then skewering the ancient singer with a smouldering look of flagrant lust. His hand slid lower to shake and tug at his penis, thighs parting wider as it began to fill. "It could be you doing this," he sighed out.

Maglor, at first of a mind to deny his mate the stimulus he desired, found he had no motivation to punish Elladan and immediately dropped again to hands and knees, following through on his initial notion and engulfing the swelling organ, which his beloved obligingly held out for him. Lower and lower he dipped his head, taking as much of the lengthening shaft as he could and felt Elladan's hand pressing to keep him there. Slowly Maglor withdrew, grinning around the aroused shaft as Elladan's arse lifted from the floor to try and prevent it.

"Oh, Maglor!" he cried, bucking up between the retreating lips, eager to feel the mobile tongue lap at his glans, eager to spill down his mate's throat.

Surely things would have proceeded just so save that at that precise moment a particularly large surge picked up the boat and made it lurch sideways, pitching her sharply to starboard so that her keel almost felt daylight, and both elves went sliding and rolling toward the sea. Maglor managed to grasp the bow line and hung on but Elladan toppled right into the water with a frantic yelp. He came up again just as the boat righted herself and found Maglor had tossed him a line. Grabbing it tight he was pulled in and lifted back onto the deck, soaked and furious.

"This is unbearable!" he shouted, staggering to the mast and frantically insinuating his arms in the rigging, back to his beloved. "Take us home."

He had no idea what an inviting pose he presented until Maglor pounced, plastering his body against his, hard cock pushed against his rear, hands roaming and teasing, tongue licking from the base of his neck to his ear, which he sucked and then bit.

"I thought you wanted me to give it to you," Maglor whispered in husky mirth. He gave a swift thrust of his hips and snickered as Elladan pushed back against it. "Do you?"

"Aye." Elladan made to turn, trying to work his arms free and was abruptly stopped as Maglor grabbed them and shoved them back amid the taut ropes. "What are you doing?"

"Tying you to the mast." Maglor's eyes sparkled as he did this, glancing at Elladan _~Elros~_ to gauge the degree to which the dunking had doused his ardour. He reached between dripping thighs and ran his fingers through drenched pubic curls and over a much deflated penis. He cupped the balls beneath it and made Elros _~Elladan~_ groan aloud; those strong shapely legs parted more. "For your safety, of course. I do not want you tossed into the drink before I've had you to my utter satisfaction."

"I don't know about this," Elladan balked, though he leaned into the sensual caresses and kisses now bestowed over his flesh. Hands came up his torso from hips to pectorals and there rested, pinching and flicking his nipples as a voracious mouth sucked the crux of neck and shoulder. He shivered, a soft groan easing through his nostrils. They had not made love like this before, though Maglor had frequently given playful hints that he adored enforced submission. "I'm cold and the sea is too choppy. Let us go back and weigh anchor in the bay, then you can"

His words were stolen as the hot, rigid flesh of Maglor's erection demanded entrance, forcing its way between arse cheeks held open by rough-tipped fingers. He yelped as a strong thrust pushed the swollen cock inside and the minstrel's body slammed against him with a most satisfying concussion.

"Let's stay right here. You'll find the rhythm of the sea lends a certain spontaneity to the movement. I might lose balance and cling to you, buried to the balls, or be thrown off onto my arse. You might even use the rise and dip of the ocean to your advantage, since you do not want to be taken thus, bound and helpless, to dislodge me. Then I'd have to get back up and start all over, penetrate you again, fuck you hard and fast." He retreated and gave a jarring shove, successfully striking Elladan's prostate and enjoying the high-pitched squeal that initiated. "Oh, you liked that."

"Aye. I mean, nay. Valar, Maglor."

Elladan didn't know exactly what he should do, not having played the game before, but gathered he was supposed to resist. That was going to take some effort as he wanted the cock to start moving and never stop rather than have it torn from him. He braced himself on the mast and peeked over his shoulder. Seeing the expectant expression in the singer's eyes, he manufactured a fearful glower, or what he hoped was a close approximation.

"Get off me! You've no right to bind me thus; I will not submit!" With that he gave a brisk push with his buttocks and felt Maglor's rigid organ retreating. It came completely free and he gasped, clutching at the ropes holding him fast, expecting a punishing intrusion and bruising collision. Instead, Maglor stood back and surveyed Elladan, stroking himself as he did.

"Liar. You want it. Look at this and tell me you don't want it." He held his impressive organ out and smirked as Elladan's _~Elros'~_ gaze honed in on it and he swallowed, unconsciously sliding his legs further apart.

"Nay."

"Aye. Worry not, I plan to use you well." He stepped closer and fondled his captive shamelessly, pumping and squeezing the heavy penis, distracting Elros _~Elladan~_ so that he failed to notice what the hand reaching into his hair was doing. From his ebony tresses Maglor retrieved a leather tie, freeing his mane so that it whipped and flew wildly in the prevailing winds. Dropping to a crouch, he tightly bind the lovely erection, ignoring the shout of protest, and kissed its glistening tip. Standing, he moved behind his prisoner and settled firm hands on Elladan's hips.

"Why do that? Saes, do not punish me thus, Maglor."

Elladan's plea was ignored and the huge cock breached him anew. This time Maglor did not stop moving, pounding into him with delight, growling as he bore down and fucked him with serious intent, teeth and lips worrying his neck, leaving bites and soft purple passion marks all down his shoulder. Elladan gripped the mast and did his best to relax and let the hot rod of blood and flesh do its work, rubbing him just exactly how he liked it, but as his passion built to feverish levels he realised he would not be allowed to experience the rush of ecstasy his mate was nearing. Indeed, his cock bumped and scraped against the wooden pole but no other attention did it receive, for Maglor would not touch him, absorbed in his own pleasure. He seemed to have forgotten about the restraint even as Elladan became more painfully aware of it.

"Maglor!"

Suddenly Maglor tensed, grabbed Elladan hard and pulled him down forcefully as he thrust up within him, long, rough lunges that jolted him with bright flares of pleasure. The minstrel came, moaning as his semen coated his cock and eased its path for several more rolling impacts. Breathing hard, he pulled out and flopped down on the deck, stretching out as Elladan had done earlier, folding his arms behind his head as he smiled up in devious glee at his frustrated lover.

"That was good," he said between deep, recovering breaths. "Yet, I am far from satisfied."

"No? Then what is that I feel oozing down my thighs?" demanded Elladan, irritated to be denied his pleasure, too. He regretted his complaint immediately, for Maglor leaped up, snatching his discarded shirt fromthe deck and dipping it into the rocking water. Twirling it tight he used it to slap a resounding blow to Elladan's backside that smarted like nothing he'd ever felt. "Ai! Why did you do that?" Another blow fell and he howled, shifting to evade further punishment and failing as the saturated shirt whipped his arse again. "Daro!"

"Mind you insolent tongue," barked Maglor and swung the makeshift whip. The loud smack was most satisfying, as was Elros' _~Elladan's~_ subsequent efforts to avoid him, the punished flesh quivering and red. He let the garment fall to the deck with a soft splat and mounted his captive again, pumping his renewed erection rapidly in and out, knowing he would be able to go on for a longer time, smiling as he watched Elladan struggle, for the pounding he was taking was maddeningly delicious, infuriatingly frustrating as he could not peak, and his arse must burn with every impact due to the stinging rebuke it had just endured.

"Maglor, oh Valar," moaned Elladan, squirming under the assault, simultaneously needing it and wanting it to end. "Saes, untie me."

"And have you drown in the sea?"

No sooner had the words been uttered than another high wave lifted the boat and then dropped her ungently into the deep trough on the other side. Maglor had to grab both the rigging and his lover's waist to keep from being thrown overboard. The motion sent him crashing up against his beloved and he held tight, suddenly concerned to feel the flinch that jolted through Elladan. A low, soft cry of dismay and dissatisfaction followed and the dark, water-logged head bowed against the mast. With shock it dawned that this response was real; Elladan _~Elros? - Elladan~_ was not enjoying the game.

The boat settled more or less level and Maglor still maintained the close connection, fervently, almost reverently kissing the shoulder against which he let his weight fall. Somehow, he found this all unbearably moving; Elladan's submission was not feigned nor his resistance a pretence. It bespoke a degree of love he had not known before, a gift so profound he could scarcely define it. Slowly he withdrew, watching his beloved shudder as the organ retreated.

"Why?" Elladan whispered. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Maglor answered, voice choked with emotion. He stood close, keeping his body against Elladan's hoping that would provide reassurance, and reached for the restrained cock. Quickly he untied it and then as swiftly freed Elladan's arms, rubbing them lightly, drawing them to encircle his waist, thrilling at the feel of the hot, distended organ pressing against his, meeting bewildered grey eyes as he leaned in to kiss his mate. "Your turn. Shall we trade places?"

Elladan's brows rose sharply as he examined the hungry, hopeful, penitent countenance before him, wondering how all those emotions could fit in the lovely grey depths. He smiled and claimed a kiss, too, squeezing Maglor and sighing out a desperate groan as he shifted to wedge his cock against its counterpart.

"The oil rolled into the deep; I've no means to prepare you." Another kiss and he smoothed his palm over the wild black mane. "Ai, I do want you."

"Then have me. I don't mind the discomfort, 'tis over quickly." Maglor tipped his head and nipped at Elladan's chin, clearly inviting a little attention to his long ivory throat.

"I mind." Elladan obliged, lapping and taking tiny tastes of the skin, pinching small spots all along the exposed neck from shoulder to earlobe, which he gently sucked.

"Nay, it's only your due after the way I took you. I deserve the same treatment."

"You deserve to be loved and I don't like giving pain when I wish to give pleasure." He peeked at the singer's face, smiling to see the dreamy, hazy expression overtaking his mate. The minstrel's gaze swivelled to bring him in sight and he offered a broader smile and a quick kiss, reaching down and petting the tight arse seductively.

"But I like it that way," whined Maglor, "you _are_ punishing me." He shifted his hips, rocking side to side to create a delightful sensation when his cock rolled over Elladan's then back. "I will assuredly know pleasure. Throw me into the rigging and"

He was silenced with a heated kiss that ended abruptly and he found himself facing a searing gaze of fiery longing. That perspective lasted all of two seconds as he was roughly grabbed, spun, pushed into the billowing sail, and mounted. Elladan's lovely slender sabre found its way and was quickly sheathed within him. He gave an approving groan of decadent delight as it settled firmly against his prostate.

"Ai, beloved, move, move!" he exhorted, scrambling to grasp the slack canvas and lean over the boom, heard Elladan's sharp gasp and had but seconds to prepare for the swift retreat and immediate re-entry of the svelte shaft. Only faintly he registered his mate's lusty grunts as he was fucked with rapacious frenzy, Elros _~Elladan~_ too overcome by need to take his time or draw the experience out. He came quickly, a consequence of having been tied off, and Maglor regretted having done it, realising he would not. Yet before he could begin to really mourn his aroused state, he was spun about, his mouth and lips devoured as he was drawn down to the deck. Before he could even think to ask, Elladan pushed him onto his back and transferred that talented mouth to his rigid cock.

"Beloved, aye, like that," he encouraged, watching in an enthralled somatic daze as the dark head rose and fell. He cried out when fingers trailed across his sack and his balls were gently squeezed. "Elladan!" He lifted into the swirling suction of the mobile tongue as it swabbed across his slit and let his body go, relenting to the desire to spill down his mate's throat, to watch him swallow and feel the faint touch of teeth on his glans when he did. Maglor's orgasm was glorious and he lay flat, a silly grin on his face, one hand pressed atop his husband's head where it rested on his belly.

Just as they were drifting into a light, restful reverie the sea reared up again and sent both plunging into the bouncing waves. They came up spluttering with indignant disgust and had to swim a few strokes to catch the boat, heaving themselves onboard with many a muttered curse and dragged themselves to the mast. Wrapping themselves around it, their eyes met and the sight each presented, soaked hair clinging to their faces and bodies, bits of seaweed stuck to it here and there, salty water trickling off into puddles beneath their feet, sent them into simultaneous peals of laughter. Each transferred an arm to hang onto the other and with lurching steps made it to the stern where the tiller had come free from its loose mooring long ago. They sat side by side on either side of it and in perfect accord met across the rudder and kissed.

The wind had not relented and Elladan shivered, looking for his clothes, realising with dismay that they were gone, lost to the waves. He scanned the ragged expanse of green water and quickly became alarmed; he could not see the land.

"Maglor! Where is Himling?" He convulsively grabbed to the minstrel's arm.

"Just there, where it has been for all time. We have just been carried adrift beyond the horizon. Be at peace; I will soon have us back on course." He was concerned over his mate's obvious dread and wondered over it, for Elros had never feared the sea before. Yet he knew nothing of what had transpired on the journey to fabled Númenor; mayhap Ossë had not calmed the ocean's tempers. He hesitated but finally gave in to his curiosity. "What disturbs you so?"

"What?" Elladan was taken aback, not realising how his fear must show, and blushed to have it pointed out. "I just cannot bear to lose sight of the land. We are at the mercy of Ossë out here."

"Mercy? He is not cruel. I have been friends with him long these many centuries and you once" He stopped, smiling over his blunder as he shook his head. "Tell me why you dislike him so."

"Ai Valar, he is terrible!" exclaimed Elladan, happy to ignore the halted reference to the past. "So many have met tragedy and death at his hands. It is his work that made this pleasure voyage so rough and our loving so jarringly eventful. I dare say he is somewhere out there watching us, too." He shivered in revulsion as the notion took hold, ineffectually trying to cover his nakedness. He glanced up to find Maglor watching him with perplexed concern and frowned. "Tell me why you trust him, why you befriended him."

"Besides offering me a chance at redemption by retrieving the Silmaril?" Maglor smiled at Elladan's embarrassed grimace and gently took hold of his mate's chin, guiding the comely face near enough to kiss. When he finished that, Elladan was smiling again and a soft sigh left him. The minstrel could see that he would accept this, too, this friendship of which he did not approve, out of love and respect. "Ai, beloved Ind'wedhen (My Heart-bond), I can do nothing less than praise and thank him. It was Ossë who brought you back to me. First he salvages my blasted soul and now he gives back to me my heart's desire. How can I not honour and respect him? I owe him everything."

To this Elladan could offer no rebuttal, for obvious reasons, and he was uncomfortable with the notion of his husband feeling such a deep sense of obligation to the Maia. Yet he could not discount it, for in truth he was himself now indebted to Ossë, for without him would he ever have encountered Maglor? Elladan could not imagine being without the singer's love and companionship. He found himself reconsidering his view of the Maia. Was it possible the devious sea-spirit truly cared about Maglor's heart and soul or was he still merely following orders, bending to the will of greater Powers?

The day ended with no greater harm befalling them than the jeers and jokes aimed at them by Jatmâ, loudly and lewdly extolling the many virtues of sailing they must have practised on their trip. The hot bath, clean dry clothes, and hearty meal the brusque seneschal had prepared in anticipation of just such a return more than rewarded the lovers for bearing this with equanimity. The night passed without further discussion of Ossë and his undisputed place in their life.

 

 

  
Elladan was performing a complicated and precise kata with his broadsword, the movements exact, his concentration intense. He was completely absorbed in his training and saw nothing, heard nothing, his whole being focused on his movements, his unity with the sword, their combined mastery of the space around them. Graceful and fluid as were these steps, every sweep and thrust, every block and jab, every leap and turn, was designed to deliver a deadly stroke to an opponent. There was no room for defence in these rigourous manoeuvres, no place for mercy or compassion. Elladan armed was a force of pure destruction, a beautiful and deadly vision of perfection in the art of killing. Maglor watched, mesmerised and repulsed at the same time.

It was fascinating, he could not deny it. Elladan _~Elros? - Elladan~_ had obviously learned the kata at a very young age and had taken ample liberties with the form, freely elaborating on the moves, changing them to suit his personal taste, this particular sword. Maglor did not doubt for a second that these moves and parries, steps and jabs, sweeping slices and leaping undercuts, were the same techniques his brother used but dissimilar enough that it was plainly obvious to all.

This, conversely, and more than any other hints in his words and body language, attested to a deep dependence upon his brother. It was important for Elladan to be Elladan and not just one half of a set of twins even as he defined himself by comparison to his twin. That, the minstrel reflected, was a personality trait never exhibited by Elros at any time in his past life. Even as a child, he had been the dominant one, watching out for Elrond, protecting him, nurturing him, encouraging him when he seemed lost in pining for their parents. Yet now he strove to prove his individuality in order to justify his reliance upon that common bond, that split duality.

_~Perhaps that is to be expected, for he is not merely a twin but the son of his twin. Aiya! What a conundrum. Is it not natural to be dependent upon his father? Aye, but he must long for nothing less than an individual identity, free from Elrond.~_

That sounded reasonable, but Maglor could not escape the feeling that there was something more, another layer to this complex elf that he had yet to uncover. His introspection was interrupted as Elladan began a new kata, changing from the broadsword to a dagger and club. The moves were not elegant and ethereal anymore but cruel, brutal, powerful, and ugly. Maglor's smile dissolved and a cold thrill ran through him; he hated watching Elladan practice hand-to-hand.

There were different katas for different weapons and Elladan was nothing less than a master - a warrior of such skill he was virtually indestructible. That at least was no change, for Elros had been Maedhros' equal in war-sport. Only severe odds against him or some devilry of evil could bring about his defeat. He knew it, too; rejoiced in it. Here was the essential quality that established his ego, as much a component of his being as the colour of his eyes and the shape of his face, perhaps more so for this aspect of his person was his alone. And he cherished that, relished being among that singular class of elves for whom the sword and the sabre were extensions of the physical body rather than mere tools of war. Maglor watched, wondering how long he could keep his beloved warrior content in this environment of peace and solitude.

"Hah! Gwanno, ulunn deleb!" (Hah! Die, abhorrent creature!)

Elladan's loud shout startled Maglor out of his thoughts. He smiled with mirth; Elladan was showing off for him. Boldly he sauntered near and removed his tunic and shirt, tossing them aside without care for where they landed, his skin glazed with a sheen of sweat, his hair bound tight in a single braid. Muscles flexing, a quick glance to make sure he was being observed with absolute attention, a flash of a smile, and he moved to take up a slender blade, more flexible than the broadsword but longer than a hunting knife.

With a leap and a turn almost too fast to follow he engaged the wooden dummy he had created for this purpose, striking precise points on the false torso with the sword, his hands, his feet. Skill and beauty combined again and now the moves were more a dance, a most seductive and alluring dance, a not so subtle promise that his mate would never want for protection. Here was the pledge again, its form blatant, physical, violent: Elladan would fight for him to the death and only death would part them.

As though to drive the point home, Elladan leaped high and performed a spinning kick to the pseudo head while simultaneously burying his blade in the dummy's breast with his left hand, the jab so brutal the steel cut deep into the wood and remained fixed, flashing in the sun as it oscillated with the excess energy imparted to the delivery. Breathing hard, eyes bright with fire and brimming with love, he strode to his mate and with zealous aggression claimed his lips, lean strong arms encircling him, the kiss a passionate entreaty. He came away with a smile self-consciously courageous, for he was unused to making the first advance, wondering what the dumbstruck expression on his mate's refined countenance portended.

Maglor stood gazing blankly, heart pounding a wild, unsteady rhythm as the present shifted and rolled and collided with the past. Something about this was all wrong and at the same time perfectly right. Here he was in this magnificent ellon's embrace, this incredibly erotic elf who so plainly wanted him, needed him. He searched the bright grey eyes, noticing not for the first time how much blue and gold they held. He reached up and caressed a pale cheek coloured with a splash of rose from the exertions just completed and wondered who he was, this glorious person he had married, claimed for his own and permitted to claim him in turn, to whom his soul was bound and the deepest secrets of the Valar had been entrusted.

"Ai Valar," he said, voice low and hoarse. Absently he reached for the warrior's powerful hand, the brutal hand that had delivered that killing blow, lifting it, turning it to inspect the creases of the palm. "Elladan," he murmured, finding at last the name he needed. "You are left handed."

"Aye." Elladan dipped his head sideways to catch the intent stare mapping his palm, smiling, planting a tender kiss against the noble temple. "Is there some rede given in those lines? Is everything all right?"

"Yes, fine." Maglor stuttered out, eyes leaping to scan the comely face so near to his. The taste of his mate was still on his tongue and his vision settled on dark red lips half in pout and half in grin. Even as he contemplated sampling them Elladan sealed their mouths together, the kiss more demanding and yet more tentative, too. At last Maglor regained his senses and returned the embrace, stealing away control though really it was given up readily. His soul sang as he delved the mouth he knew so intimately, chased the tongue that had so often wrapped around his sex and pleasured him, fingers tracing a light, exploring touch up the broad, naked back, hands running adoringly over the warm, damp skin of battle hardened arms.

The kiss ended and he found such love trained upon him that it stole away whatever words he'd thought to say and he could only smile, crush this incredible being against him and kiss him again, harder, with passion and command. A soft moan replied to his silent ferocity and he came free with a soft pop, eyes gleaming with wondering amazement. He held his husband out from him and looked him over well, appreciating anew the solid, well-defined muscles and planes of this warrior's body. What did it matter, left hand or right? _~Nothing, nothing!~_ New life, new body; there were bound to be changes. Ogling the distended fulness at the groin with anticipation, he reached down and felt along its outlined form, chuckling as a sharp gasp and a push of the hips brought him once more in full contact with the half-naked ellon.

"Maglor, hervenn." (husband)

There was breathless desperation in the words, an urgent craving for sexual union and the fusion of spirit that came with it. Lips explored his neck, the air exhaled from them sweet and warm against his skin. He let his fingers traipse along the elegant shell of a pointed ear, tenderly brushed its tip, felt a deep, rippling shudder pass through the body pressed against him. A hand settled on his hip, the right hand, the one with the golden band encircling its index finger. He grabbed the left and again turned up that callused palm, kissing it, unable to take his sight from the face he loved so.

"Elladan nín. My Elf-man. Hervennen. (My husband)" Expectant eyes met his, dilated and burning with ardent hunger.

"I am going to fuck you as many different ways as I know how, right here, right now." Elladan's voice shook as he spoke these words and he followed them with another commanding kiss, feverish hands snatching at the minstrel's clothes. The look of surprise and avid excitement filling Maglor's eyes spurred him on but he had to struggle to maintain dominance, for if Maglor was to be mastered then that mastery must be genuine; he would not easily yield, not today. They were well matched and wrestled long, but youth and speed won him the right to mount the singer and ride him hard, bringing him to orgasm face down in the dirt.

After the initial coupling, Elladan gave in, not really that well versed in the many means of making love, permitting Maglor to demonstrate the meaning of dominion. He did not resist when he was tied to the weapons rack with the shredded strips of his own tunic and there upon subjected to the most delicious forms of torture possible, the boundary between pleasure and punishment blurred beyond recognition. In this he found a strange, new peace, a kind of absolution for his deceit. When they were done he could barely put one foot before the other and dressing was unthinkable, his genitals bruised and groin muscles strained, his anus aching and his nipples throbbing with a dull, droning pulse. Maglor carried him naked to their rooms and tended all his hurts with supreme and gentle care.


	9. Part Nine - D'râk

**Part Nine - D'râk**  
In the days that followed, the couple delved whole-heartedly into the life to which they had committed themselves, finding out what it meant to be mated spouses, to have every moment free to devote solely to one another. On Himling it was for them as it had been in the glade beneath the trees, only better, richer; their delight in one another enhanced by the increased intimacy. Elladan poured out his love and desired nothing less than to heal his beloved. Maglor cherished him, rejoicing in every moment spent beside him.

More quickly than anyone could have imagined, Elladan's unwavering devotion mended the shattered soul and fractured mental processes of the Noldorin Prince. Daily Maglor found his mind clearer and his heart lighter. At last the moment came when all the small differences and inconsistencies he had chosen to ignore, rationalise, and deny coalesced. He looked upon his mate and knew he was not Elros, had never been Elros in this life or any other. Such was impossible for the Gift of Men was incontrovertible. How he could have convinced himself otherwise was beyond his reason and the only answer was that he had truly been beyond reason for a very long time. Ossë, though, knew much about this and while Maglor was not displeased with the chosen substitute, it rankled that the Maia had humoured his obsession and freely lied to him, inventing the unlikely tale of Eru reversing Tar Minyatur's choice, all for the sake of the ruined minstrel preserving the Silmaril.

The epiphany happened quite unexpectedly one morning as Elladan was brushing out his glorious mane, Maglor watching in fascination as the heavy fall of locks swayed and rippled under the vigourous grooming. He smiled; like an elfling Elladan's eyes were shut and his lips moved silently as he counted the number of strokes. Every day he gave the lengthy head of hair two-hundred firm strokes.

Suddenly Elladan's eyes had opened and locked on Maglor's through the reflecting plane of the silvered glass, a gentle, questioning, absolutely endearing look he often used within them, an expression the singer could not recall ever being trained on him before by anyone. Not even his naneth had regarded him with such intensity, marking him as the centre of the universe, the brightest, most important star amid a multitude of glittering points. Elladan gazed at him checking to make sure he was happy and at peace, as though this was the most vital thing in all the world to which he could dedicate his life. It was that look and the truth behind it which finally revealed Elladan to him, for Elros had not loved him this way and now he could see this clearly. Indeed, in comparison he had to wonder if Elros had loved him at all.

Maglor felt no anger, no disappointment, no sense of betrayal or treason and marvelled over it. Instead he was overwhelmed with gratitude, amazed that anyone would do such a thing as this, for Elladan had buried his identity, assuming another's, accepting that he was but a replacement within the heart he loved so much. Deeply moved by such dedication and sacrifice, Maglor had gone to him and taken him to his bed, making love to him just as Elladan preferred, softly and sweetly yet with a dark undertone of bondage, comprehending why he needed to be tied down and punished, for now he could see the glimmer of guilt in those beguiling grey eyes. He pumped all the love his heart felt into the willing, straining, convulsing body as he came, filing his husband with his seed, recreating the moment of their bonding, renewing his commitment to this enigma he had wed.

Afterwards he'd simply watched Elladan sleep, content and peaceful, and could not really say why he'd chosen not to reveal his discovery. As he considered what to do, Maglor realised Elladan had been trying to tell him from the start. Now he smiled; he knew how to proceed. He must make it possible for his young mate to feel secure enough to share this secret, to make that effort one more time. He would demonstrate that he was well and whole again, that he adored Elladan and no other. He would wait and permit his husband to come to this decision on his own, with ample encouragement of course.

That would be the one, final test of Elladan's heart and Maglor envisioned in vivid detail the moment: the struggle to reveal who he was, the fear of being rejected for not being Elros, afraid of being despised and cast out for engaging in such trickery. His beautiful, impetuous warrior on his knees, head bowed, humbled and contrite, entreating forgiveness and prepared to accept any penalty named, indeed, eager for a whipping, if he could but stay. Then it would be his turn. He would not display surprise or anger but take his beloved to him and simply tell him that he knew, had known in his heart all along, for Maglor felt that to be true. A light flogging would surely be sufficient discipline and he would deliver it with devotion and restraint. The he would take him down to the Silmaril and fuck him there upon the altar. He smiled, imagining scene play out, sure his husband would soon unburden his soul, risking all and earning forever a true, undying love.

Eager to bring about this confession, he began dropping subtle hints, renewing his references to the past and remarking how much Elladan differed from the ellon he recalled. Where Elros was an accomplished harpist and possessed a full, rich baritone, Elladan could barely play a simple reed flute and had difficulty singing on key. Elros delighted in swimming and sailing; for him aearon was a playground, but Elladan dreaded the endless, restless expanse of water. Elros disliked hunting and exploring the wooded heights adjacent to Himling Cove; Elladan was almost as adept in wood-craft as the Avari and was happier in the branches of a tree than the luxury of their island castle. Elros favoured his right hand, Elladan his left. Elros preferred history and lore; Elladan was a romantic who delighted in poetry and art. Elros never enjoyed submitting and endured their sexual exploits while Elladan absolutely craved their games of dominance and punishment.

In this, and so many other ways, he decided Elladan was superior to Elros and a more fitting match.

The reaction to all this was not as he'd hoped and the days of bliss gradually gave way to a vague, unsettled tension between them, a perpetual contest between the First Age and the Third that touched every aspect of their daily life. Elladan became withdrawn and wary of the constant reminders of Elros. Maglor, expecting him to own his falsehood, became suspicious, wondering why he would not. There was an answer that readily presented itself, but this he tried to reject even as each missed opportunity to divulge the truth increased his uneasiness. Elladan, needing reassurance that his lie was justified, terrified that he'd been found out but unable to face the inevitable break with his beloved, fearful of why the mighty Noldorin Lord was toying with him so, began spending more time in the shrine of the Silmaril. There he remained for hours, lost in desperate communion with the gem, avidly viewing the scenes of his future with Maglor, for these were the proof he required.

  
Elladan was resting in the bright bay window of Maglor's bedroom, clothed in only a loose shirt worn open. Recovering from a vigourous episode of conjugal hi-jinx, for his husband had become increasingly forceful of late, he had no plans to leave the suite soon. The warmth of the sun bathed him, the sash thrown open to admit the light and the gentle sea breeze, and he felt neither need nor desire to stir from the spot, absorbed in an engrossing tale of intrigue and betrayal among the Numenoreans. Yet he was disturbed and brought suddenly from the Second Age to the present, hearing voices murmuring in the distinctive tones of strife and conflict somewhere down below. Cautiously he listened, laying aside the book and leaning close to the open window. He smiled, Maglor and Jatmâ arguing again in the Avarin tongue. That was nothing to be concerned over and he made to retrieve the book when a third broke in, speaking unintelligible words in a voice he could not mistake: Ossë.

At once his heart rate doubled its pounding rhythm and dread coursed through his veins. What was the Maia doing here and why did Maglor's voice sound so dire? Elladan scrambled to his knees on the seat to carefully angle his head through the opening. There was no scruple strong enough to prevent him from eavesdropping on this conversation, given his darkest fears, and he didn't even bother to rationalise as he concentrated to translate the rapid speech, thankful for Asmalindë's coaching in the foreign tongue.

"You bound your soul to him?" Ossë's tone was filled with mocking scorn. "That was not part of the plan. You were just supposed to sate your compulsion, fuck him until your balls dry up, and then send him on home to Imladris."

"I could never do that, use him so," Maglor protested the crude description of his desires. "I love him."

"You had no difficulty doing so the first time," the Maia scolded. "As for love, it was never that. You lusted for him, nothing more, and now you've had him."

"No! Do you think I have carried his memory in my heart this long because of the lure of his flesh? No, this is not lust. I have never been so deeply content in all my many days."

"Bah! You kept the memory alive to punish yourself, Maglor."

"You will not speak these words to B'rônâ Kânô." Now Jatmâ's voice joined in, carefully deferential but nonetheless reproachful. "B'rônâ Kânô has paid enough. This ellon is for him; we will keep Ohtatyaro Nessa here with us."

A brusque laugh resounded through the courtyard and echoed from the tall, decaying walls, for Ossë apparently found the servant's insolent defence of his master amusing.

"Will you truly? What if he does not choose to stay on this isolated, barren bit of rock? He will tire of all this soon enough. Send him home, Maglor, and save yourself the humiliation of being abandoned by your virile young lover."

"Bâ!" Jatmâ barked in fury.

"Nay, Jatmâ, be at peace," extolled Maglor. "He is trying to upset us, nothing more. You know Ossë's ways by now." There was a short, tense pause and then the minstrel continued. "Elladan will not abandon me, Hîren. He understands the importance of what we are doing here."

"He knows? You told him?" Ossë was clearly not amused any longer.

"He knows and will stay."

"What prompted you to risk so serious an undertaking? You fool! You have placed the gem at risk, Maglor, and woe be unto you should it fall captive to Shadow once more."

"Ohtatyaro Nessa's heart is true," snapped Jatmâ. "Having no honour, you dishonour everyone else with your cold judgements."

"Jatmâ!"

"Best to teach your slave to show the proper respect, Maglor, or he might meet with an accident at sea."

"I do not take back my speech," the seneschal spoke bravely but his voice quavered. "If I must go, I will go to the Rôda Maril (Crystal Cave) and take whatever chastisement Phaja Narwâ (Fiery Spirit) deems just."

"You will do no such thing," Maglor's insistent and worried tone revealed the depth of his love for his foster-father.

"Manwë's Breath!" Ossë cursed in exasperation. "Your faith is quite touching, Jatmâ, but I assure you my powers exceed any that reside within that cave. Silence! No more. You will stay with your master and that devotion will serve as your apology to me."

"My thanks," intoned Maglor darkly. "There will be no more talk of sending Elladan away either. I called for you to ask your advice not to hear you condemn the very union you promised me would come to pass."

"I've no idea what you expect me to do about it; nothing has changed regarding your obligations to the stone. This is an unexpected turn." Now Ossë paused briefly before continuing in bitter acrimony. "Or at least not a possibility revealed to me. That would be like Hîr Ulmo."

"Be that as it may, I am concerned for he seems to be pulling away from me," said Maglor. "I try to invoke his trust yet he grows ever more reserved and spends long hours with the stone."

"You see now the folly of your weak and foolish heart," spat Ossë. "He is captured by it as surely as any fish in a net and will covet it for his own. Whatever the cost, the stone must not be removed from here."

"It will not be; Elladan would not even think to take it from me," insisted Maglor, but there was a definite edge of fear in his voice.

"You know nothing of him," sneered Ossë. "Deal with this, Maglor, or if you cannot bring yourself to do it, I will. Before the new moon."

"No! He was given to me; you said it yourself. I will not see him destroyed."

Maglor's cry sent a cold chill down Elladan's spine and he withdrew inside, hunching down against the cushions and wrapping his arms about him. There had been a note of fatalism in his husband's tone that he only employed when speaking of destiny ordained by the Powers and by Eru. A shadow fell over his heart and he passed a shaking hand over his forehead, unable to accept what had been discussed but equally unable to deny what his ears had heard. A few more muffled words passed between master and servant, Jatmâ urging Maglor to 'tell him everything', but Ossë seemed to have taken his leave and Elladan found he hadn't the stomach to listen anymore.

Suddenly a soft sound like a grunt of pain sounded from the hallway and a slight motion fluttered across his peripheral vision. He leaped up, charging to the half open door in time to catch D'râk trying to slink away.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, snatching hold of the ellon's arm before he could make it to the stairway. His nose wrinkled up in repugnance as the unmistakable scent of semen met his nose. He gave an inarticulate cry of disgust but kept his grip tight, using his free hand to gather the shirt over his nakedness. "Were you standing there spying on me, pleasuring yourself? Answer!" He shook the page roughly.

"Nothing! I was doing nothing, only looking, Hîren, nothing more," insisted D'râk. He tried to smile reassuringly but in truth the black look of fury on the young Lord's face frightened him. He'd already been warned to stay away from Elladan once.

"Did Maglor tell you to keep watch on me?" Elladan shook him again. "Were you running off to share your report with him?"

"Nay, Hîren!" D'râk could not understand what this talk of spying meant, but knew he couldn't endure another rebuke from B'rônâ Kânô. The last had almost killed him. "I will say nothing to him. He will not know you were listening at the window. You will also say nothing; he will not know I was watching you and enjoying that. Yes? We will be in accord, Ell-Adan?"

Stunned, Elladan released him and stepped back, eyes narrow and lips compressed. He despised this kind of extortion and was about to say so when the faint pressure of footsteps, light and noticeable only because he loved them so, announced Maglor's return to the interior of the castle. The servant's eyes widened in unmistakable terror and he bowed, snatching up Elladan's hand and kissing it, briefly pressing it against his cheek.

"i will atone; please do not tell him," he whispered ere he fled away toward a secondary staircase, leaving Elladan to make his own hasty retreat back to the apartment; he dropped onto the sofa and tried to compose himself.

Maglor entered, his eyes fell on his beloved curled against the cushions, the open shirt having fallen away to bare one white shoulder, and a bright smile lit his features. He came at once and perched on the arm beside Elladan, kissing him, running one hand up the lean chest, brushing a soft nipple that at once gathered and rose, then pushing between the folded legs to grope the lax genitals, equally soft and responsive. He ended the kiss with a light laugh, tugging playfully at the tight red peak and the growing erection.

"Valar, to come in here and know that I will find you waiting for me like this is the greatest joy I have ever imagined," he said, licking a prominent ear-tip peaking through the ebony hair. "My Elf-man." Quickly he removed the shirt and was doing his best to cover every centimetre of his lover's ear with warm wet saliva, briskly stroking the cock filling his hand.

"Maglor, beloved, stop." Elladan squirmed under the laving tongue but could not help bending into the lips that latched onto him and sucked, reaching for the fist encircling his sex and helping it massage the aroused shaft. "Ai, you are the undoing of me," he wailed.

"I sincerely hope so for I cannot resist such a delectable invitation when it is presented with such ardent and wanton desire." He changed position and arranged his mate more to his liking, reclining length-wise, settling between Elladan's knees. While he bent his head to lick and lap the prominent erection sprouting between his husband's legs, Maglor untied his leggings, extracting his full cock with a satisfied grunt, favouring it with a few strokes as his fingers probed Elladan's tight anus. "Get you legs up on my shoulders and let me in."

"Valar!" Elladan winced and battled in a half-hearted effort to get free, certain Maglor would leave off. "I do nothing but surrender to your charms."

"I can manage without your surrender," commented Maglor, a sly smile bending his lips into a lascivious leer. He gripped one muscular calf, draped it over his shoulder and held it there, immediately positioning his cock for entry, and bored in. Elladan yelped in pain and Maglor's heart leaped. He rammed the organ home and paused, watching the tremors running over Elladan's body.

"Baw! I am not recovered from the last encounter." Elladan shouted and shoved Maglor off, a shiver running over him as he thought of what Ossë had demanded, and tucked himself tight against the corner of the sofa, knees drawn up before his chest, arms locked around them.

"Elladan?" Maglor sat back and stared. "What is wrong?"

"Wrong? How can you ask that?"

"Because you are upset and I don't know why. Tell me, Elladan." Maglor held his breath; perhaps at last the moment had arrived. He reached out to his husband and gasped aloud as Elladan cringed back from him. "Ai! What ails you? I would never hurt you."

Elladan came to himself in a rush, realising he'd almost revealed what he'd heard. That he couldn't do, too afraid of the explanation he might receive, too terrified he would reveal something he must never admit. Frantically he scrounged for a solution.

"I know, I am sorry," he inhaled and tried to relax, permitting Maglor to take him by the arm and unwrap his knotted frame, parting his legs and delving between them.

"There is no need to be," encouraged the minstrel. His hand fell at once to Elladan's cock and fondled him, carefully cupping the heavy sac. Elladan's thighs parted and his penis lifted as if begging for attention. It was difficult to tear his eyes from it but he did. "Speak to me for it is clear there is something serious weighing on your mind." This was it. Maglor readied himself to be compassionate and forgiving and his cock hardened even more, jutting out obscenely from the gaping pants.

Elladan's heart thumped and every beat sent a surge of blood to his treasonous cock, for he could not deny the delight Maglor's touch gave him and it was so tempting just to forget, for now, and let him have his way. Maybe the pain would be worth it for his husband was sure to tend him with gentle affection afterwards. He groaned and pushed into the lazy grip, reaching out to softly pet the wet tip of Maglor's impressive erection.

"It is nothing; forget my foolishness and make love to me." He scooted down lower, lifting a leg up and around his husband to drape over the back of the sofa, exposing himself fully. "Take me."

Maglor stuck his fingers in the hole presented so blatantly offered, watching as Elladan flinched and bit back a cry, grabbing the fabric under his hands in a death grip, eyes creased shut. He frowned; he was not going to take him dry when he was already this sore. He had not drawn Elladan's blood and had no desire to, not like this anyway. He eased the fingers out and instead used them to soothe a soft cares over the tight scrotum crowded at the base of the long slender shaft. He curled over his cornered mate and kissed him deeply, working the cock faster, and again nibbled on flushed ear tips.

"I will not, for you already rejected my advances and I would not force you, for all we play at it," he whispered, nuzzling into the thick black hair. He caught his husband's eyes, wide with fear as they had never been before, and his heart ached to reassure him. Mayhap it was too much to expect him to freely own so great a sin. Mayhap he should tell him there was no secret to hide anymore. He settled his mouth over Elladan's, sighing as it opened for him at once and permitted him total access. He claimed it with gentle reassurance, letting his tongue's caressing comfort calm his mate before he retreated.

"When you give yourself to me, I want it to be something you desire more than any other thing," he said, smiling into grey eyes that held more lust now than dread. "When we play, it is only that, Elladan. It is no fun for me if you are disturbed or uncomfortable by what we do together. It is all right to tell me what you like and what you do not."

"Oh." Elladan could not think to say anything more coherent, for the stimulation his husband lavished upon his excited flesh demanded all his attention.

He lifted up into a particularly delightful stroke and moaned as the motion carried his cock into Maglor's mouth. He was sucked in and swabbed by a soft warm tongue, the fingers around the root tightening. He shut his eyes and let his head fall back, gave himself into the sensations, all his awareness reduced to the delicious friction and racing flashes of tingling pleasure spiralling up through his penis. Maglor was working hard to bring him quickly and he let it happen, giving in when his nipple was roughly tweaked just as his slit was favoured with a lavish lick. He cried out softly and arched up into the orgasm, letting his husband drain him, and fell back in limp, languid satisfaction, smiling as the ancient singer crawled atop him and kissed him, the bitter flavour of his own juices strong on his breath.

"Was that good for you?" Maglor asked, absolutely adoring the boneless heap to which he had reduced his beloved. It was almost as wondrous as wearing him out with his cock, except he was still rigid and unfulfilled.

"Aye," Elladan smiled and shifted, snips of the things Maglor had said coming back to him now, aglow with the residual pleasure granted to him and the considerate words. Whatever Ossë might have said, Maglor truly loved him and would not allow anything to happen to him. How could he have doubted a love like this? He shifted, feeling the weighty erection pressed into his belly, eager to give his mate equal delight by repaying the favour. "Valar, Maglor, you are so hard."

"You tend to have that effect on me, my fair young warrior."

"Then let me provide the remedy. I am hungry for the taste of you."

"Luthadron! (Tempter) Nay, I prefer to wait until you're ready for penetration. In fact," he rose with effort and drew Elladan off the sofa, leading him into the bed chamber, "I have a salve that will aid your healing. Lie down, face down, and let me take care of you." He didn't wait to see if he would be obeyed, confident of that, and continued on to the bathing chamber. He found that he was in a quandary, wanting Elladan to reveal the truth while at the same time desiring to make the confession effortless. The singer believed he had a reliable solution and returned to find Elladan naked on the bed, chin resting on his folded arms, legs parted wide beneath his tight round rear, eagerly exposing his anus. He chuckled and climbed up between the lean limbs, coated his fingers liberally with the gooey cream, and slowly inserted them past the tender, cramped ring of muscles. Elladan groaned and tensed but relaxed once Maglor's fingers began to tenderly fuck him, giving teasing little taps at his innermost core.

"Ai Valar," he whined, "that is incredible."

"Like it, do you?"

"Aye."

"Want more?"

"Much more."

"Then tell me."

"Want your cock in me."

"Hmmm, not yet."

"Don't you want to do it?"

"Do what?"

"Ram it in there. Spill inside me."

"I always want that."

"Then why don't you?"

"Because I can wait. Waiting will make it even more enjoyable. Besides, you haven't told me what I need to know."

"What is that?"

"Tell me what had you so upset when I arrived."

"What?" Elladan was jolted out of his sensual haze and peered over his shoulder at Maglor. The minstrel smiled and oh so softly stroked his prostate. Elladan pushed back on the fingers and wailed when they retreated completely. It was only to gather more of the soothing gel and then Maglor penetrated him anew, working the digits in and out as before. "Valar just fuck me."

"Tell me. I promise there is nothing to fear," urged Maglor, pressing down on the interior gland.

"It is nothing, Maglor. Ai! Take me, please. I need it."

"Just say the words, Elladan. I have all eternity to fuck you and gladly would I fuck you for all eternity. But I need to know and you will feel so relieved to just say it." An undertone of demanding insistence edged the coaxing words and he stroked across Elladan's prostate repeatedly, watching in fascination as he squirmed and bucked into the covers, no doubt thrusting his renewed erection against the resilient mattress. He eased his free hand beneath the writhing pelvis and grinned to discover he was right. The hot roll of swollen flesh twitched against his palm but he withdrew, denying the dual stimulation for he did not want to bring Elladan to another peak just yet.

"Ai! It was just" Elladan gasped for air, stunned when the hand fondled him and then retreated, desperate for it to come back, frantic to have Maglor's cock, to accept the organ's intrusion, to feel it stretch him, filling him, moving in him, owning him. There had to be a way to make that happen but he could not tell Maglor the truth. He snatched at the first thing that crossed his mind. "I found D'râk spying on me, pleasuring himself." The fingers stopped their tender massage and withdrew.

"What? This is about D'râk?" Maglor stared at his mate, incredulous.

"I told you it was nothing."

"That is not nothing," the minstrel frowned and shook his head, disappointed and angry. He got off the bed and cleaned off his fingers, shoved his deflating cock back inside his pants and did them up. "I will deal with him." His eyes swept over his prone husband, naked and aroused and so eager for sex, and for the first time disgust tainted his desire for the glorious body spread before him. "Yet I am not surprised. He finds you alluring and when you go around wearing almost nothing, flaunting yourself, teasing him"

"What?" Elladan scrambled up, confused and hurt by that unmistakable tone of disapproving scorn, unconsciously displaying his overt arousal. "I was not flaunting myself; I was resting here in the privacy of our rooms."

"Of course. Cover yourself with a robe next time and there will be no further difficulties," Maglor cast a cold, censorious gaze over his husband and left the suite.


	10. Part Ten - Silmarili

**Part Ten - Silmarili**  
The fortress took on the ambiance of a crypt, silent, cold, and forbidding, the entombed entity the peace and happiness wrought by the bonding of Maglor Makalaurë to Elladan of Imladris. The page vanished and nearly all the rest of servants deserted; Jatmâ alone remained and he was more taciturn and gruff than ever. The lovers avoided one another, the minstrel disappearing entirely; only the sound of his majestic voice distant, displaced, angry, and sorrowful attested to his presence somewhere deep in the heart of Himling.

Elladan haunted the place, drifting in spectral gloom from room to room, lingering in the Gallery and the memorial to Amrod and Amras, their twinned status promoting a sense of kinship he could not muster for any of the rest of Maglor's family, but spending most of his time in the cave with the Silmaril. He was torn, longing to go to Maglor but fearing the confrontation that must result. Once he tried to find him, following the eerie, disembodied voice down into a tunnel leading from the back of the gem's cavern. Before he reached the end of it, Maglor's words became clear and the lyrics of the dirge proved he was mourning for Elros again. That Elladan could not face and so he retreated to the safety of their suite.

For six days this continued, Jatmâ sympathetic but stern when he encountered Elladan, urging him to be strong like the warrior he was and confront his husband. Elladan countered that this sortie required a different kind of courage and he owned it not. The servant was not less firm with his master, exhorting Maglor to end the siege of silence and reveal his enlightenment to his husband. The minstrel countered that he was not certain he could claim Elladan as his spouse in truth, since the bond had been consummated under false pretences, and he was debating what to do about the young Lord of Imladris. As to that, Jatmâ was not above reminding the ancient Lord that he had not been concerned about lies when he failed to mention his wife in Mandos.

"Elros knew about her," said Maglor. "I thought he was Elros."

"You knew he had no memories of being Elros, regardless who he was- is- ai! You two are a pair of liars and deserve one another; that is why fate has brought you together."

"Is that what you think? Is this part of the punishment I must endure to gain atonement?"

"Why ask me? I am not Vala. But I think Ell-Adan is a gift, not a detriment and not a penance. You love him; you should tell him."

"How can I love someone I cannot trust? Ossë was right; Elladan has become enamoured of the Stone. Mayhap he came here to seek it. Maybe the rumour of the Silmaril has gone abroad once more and he was drawn here."

"Aye, he was drawn here but not to the Stone. He is the one for whom you have been praying, for whom we have all been praying; I am sure of it."

"I wish I shared your conviction. If only he would trust me enough to tell the truth, then I could believe the rest. I will have to send him away."

"You cannot! He knows all, or almost all, and Hîr Ossë will not permit him to take his knowledge back to Imladris with him. Do you want the sea-spirit to be the ending of him? Would you see him sacrificed to this madness as was D'râk?"

"You cannot blame me for D'râk," denied Maglor.

"Then who else? Ell-Adan? He knows nothing of our ways and did not understand. You do, B'rôna Kâno, and could have prevented this."

"How so? Can I control every person on Himling? Besides, he was warned; I tried. He chose the Pilgrim's Oath long ago and that was none of my doing. It was his fate."

"Fate? What do you know of it? You think the only destiny worth knowing is your own. If you understood anything about such concepts, you would not behave as though each person's fate is a singular thing, apart from all other's. Did you never consider that bringing Ell-Adan here might impact the lives of those who have dwelt in Himling Cove for centuries, serving you and the White Stone?"

"Yes, but I was not myself and was fooled. Had I been in my right mind I would not have done so"

"Ai! You deliberately misunderstand," fumed Jatmâ. "You handled this with exceptional insensitivity, B'rôna Kâno. Your jealousy was pointless and unfounded; Ohtatyaro Nessa would never betray you with another's flesh."

"It is not lust of that nature that concerns me."

At this point the Avarin seneschal abandoned the argument and returned to the upper levels of the fortress, the plaintive tones of another lament following him through the passageways. He decided it was time to force the issue with Ohtatyaro Nessa. To do this Jatmâ had to reconcile committing a sin of tremendous proportions. For the first time since adopting the Noldorin Prince, he would have to break a solemn vow and go against his sworn oath of fealty to B'rôna Kâno.

  
"I demand you open your eyes and look upon the world you inhabit now. D'râk is gone but what if another should fall to the same affliction? Will you have Maglor assuage your fragile ego again? What means nothing to you can have grave consequences for others."

"What are you talking about?" Elladan reclined in the ample tub of Maglor's bathing chamber, the water up to his sternum, hot and redolent with healing herbs and soothing oils, and glared at Jatmâ. He was not uncomfortable to be naked in the seneschal's presence, knowing he had a wife at home, as he had been around D'râk. Despite his show of irritation, the servant's comment made him distinctly uneasy, as did any reminder of the lowly page who had disappeared so suddenly.

"I am saying you must accept responsibility for D'râk's dismissal. Why did you have to betray him? He could not help what he felt and meant no harm to you. Maglor has not touched him since your arrival on the beach that night. You must speak to B'rôna Kâno about this."

Elladan caught his breath, heat rushing to his cheeks as guilt assailed him. "Maglor told you? I did not mean to do that; I was in a difficult position and"

"Hah! You did not sound as though the position was very difficult!" snorted the servant.

"You were listening? How dare you!" Elladan instantly went from abashed to provoked, sitting up in the tub, his glare equally accusing.

"Not for the reasons crowding your mind, Ell-Adan. I am not a voyeur by choice but I must protect those I am sworn to serve."

"I am no threat to Maglor; you know this." Elladan stared at the servant, confused for he could not see where the conversation was headed. Hadn't Jatmâ defended him before Ossë? "Is it for that Stone you fear? I am _not_ a thief."

"No, you are not, nor would you seek to hurt Hîr Maglor." Jatmâ's stance softened and he shook his head sadly. "Ai! What a mess this has become! I know you would die before purposely harming him. Yet this secrecy must end and if you do not take the first step and explain all, it will end badly for everyone. Can you survive if your fear to act breaks him and he fades?"

"Fades! Nay, Jatmâ, you know I don't know want that, but I fail to see"

"I know who you are and it is not Elros re-born," Jatmâ blurted out, folding his arms over his chest defiantly, watching as Elladan's mouth dropped open.

"Did Ossë tell you?" demanded Elladan as soon as he regained command of his tongue, fear coiling in his belly. He suddenly felt very vulnerable, naked in the bath with this stern-faced sylvan glaring down at him. "Does Maglor know?"

"Ossë explained his plan, but we have known from the very beginning."

"We? Do you mean Magl"

"Be silent. I mean we as in the Avari people. We have lived here an extremely long time and we are strong, strong in faith and devotion to Yavanna and the works of her mate, Aulë, to this Arda we so love. We understood at once, without Ossë's convoluted and deceptive explanations, why Maglor was spared and what his purpose is. We embrace it; we have our part to play and it is vital.

"The Stone must be cleansed of the evil with which the Dark Lord infused it. This is Maglor's great work yet it has always been understood that there would be another, Barjânô, (Protector) not from among our people but his, Maglor's kin. We have always known he could not manage alone. The burden is too great."

"You think I"

"Just listen, Ell-Adan. We believed this person was Elros, and he tried to fulfil that role but could not, for his heart was not where it belonged. He loved Maglor, but not as a mate and this was where we, the Avari, erred as much as B'rôna Kâno, mayhap more. We tried to make Elros accept a destiny for which he was never born and we have never forgotten our mistake or its impact. B'rôna Kâno has suffered so much since then."

"Jatmâ, are you telling me you tried to turn Elros into some kind of saviour? And now you have put me in this same position? Ai! It is Ossë's doing all over again!" Furious, Elladan stood and got out of the tub, wrapping a robe around him and glaring at the servant as he paced back and forth in the small space, so angry he didn't know how to react. "You are all involved in this elaborate deception going back into the last Age. That Maia uses Maglor for his plans, you used Elros, and now you both would use me," he seethed, halting and jabbing his index finger into Jatmâ's breastbone. "All without revealing what it is I'm supposed to do or what I must save him from."

"From himself, of course, from the curse of his Feänorian blood, from his deep sense of fealty and devotion to that which he most reveres. He needs aid and while my people do what we can, it is never enough and Phaja Narwâ is not satisfied. Your task is simple in comparison: just be honest with your husband and reveal who you are. All else will follow for your trust will inspire his. There is much you need to know and I have tried to convince him to confide in you, yet he is every bit as stubborn as you."

"Simple! You speak of the loss of the only one my heart can love and call that simple," scoffed Elladan, a harsh laugh leaving him as he combed frantic fingers through his sopping hair, discounting the seneschal's belief in a demanding fire god. He cast a wary look upon Jatmâ. "Are you going to tell him?"

"That is not in my plans; it is for you do." Jatmâ's conscience gave a mental wince as now he, too, was caught in the lie. "Do not fear. You will only lose him if you fail to trust him. You need to act soon; already he drifts back into the past, his mind clouding with shadows of frail memories to prevent him from feeling the hurt this betrayal gives."

"I have not betrayed him!" bellowed Elladan, fists tight and eyes wild. "No one loves him as I do! Never, _never_ would I betray Maglor. I have abandoned everything to be here with him and here I will stay for as long as he'll let me. This is Ossë's doing!" Again Elladan raked his hands through his hair and set to pacing, a vile curse leaving his lips. "I heard that odious monster telling Maglor to get rid of me, and he didn't mean sending me back to Imladris!"

"Ah, as I suspected; you were listening." Jatmâ nodded, a grim smile on his lips. "Then you know I am not your enemy, Ell-Adan."

"Then what is all this about? I do not want to be the fulfilment of some convoluted sylvan prophesy or the saviour of the saviour of the last Silmaril. Valar! This is madness and I want no part of it."

"What do you want, Elladan?"

The question startled them both and servant and Lord turned to face the open doorway where Ossë leaned in casual menace against the jam. His piercing eyes burned into Elladan's and held him fast. Slowly he straightened and entered the small chamber, dismissing Jatmâ with a flick of his wrist, the seneschal vanishing as if he had never been there, all before he could raise so much as a whimper in protest.

"Ai! What have you done?" Elladan cried, staring at the empty place occupied by Jatmâ just seconds ago.

"Nothing, he is only confined to his quarters until I am finished with you."

"Hîr Ossë, I"

"Oh, 'Lord' is it? Not 'odious monster'? I suppose that's an improvement," the Maia growled. "I expect an answer, elf-child." His presence filled the room and he towered over the dumb-struck warrior. "Maglor tells me you prefer the Silmaril to him. How does that fit with your bold testament of love and devotion?"

"That's a lie!"

"Ah, a subject in which you possess singular mastery."

"You created that lie; I never meant to reinforce it. I told him, tried to tell him," Elladan stuttered, backing away as the perilous Maia advanced. Soon he could go no further, the edge of the wash-basin pressing against his back. Heart pounding, Elladan wondered if there was any known defence against the kind of power this being could wield. Only one thought came to mind and he voiced it at once. "If you kill me here and now Maglor would be crushed. There would be no saving him again. He loves me and this you cannot change."

Ossë halted, his contorted visage smoothing into an expression of surprised amusement, and he laughed aloud, reaching out to settle his scaly palm against Elladan's shoulder, gripping tight when he felt the elf flinch under the contact. "Oh! You are great to have around just for the comedy you provide," he enthused once his mirth was expended. "Such talk of love, as though it is something grand and immutable, immune to the might of the Powers and the will of Eru. You know nothing about love, foolish elf-child."

"I am not a child and I know enough about it," insisted Elladan, heartened by this change in demeanour, and he dared hope there was yet a way out with faer and hroa intact.

"Hmmm, no, I don't think you do. Perhaps you need something of a lesson, an example of true selfless love to guide you to enlightenment. I assure you, the person I have in mind far outshines both your and Maglor's pitiful expressions of the tenderer aspects of the spirit."

"I don't understand you; are you referring to Thingol and Melian again?"

"Hardly! A more selfish and self-serving form of this much vaunted emotion is difficult to find. No, I speak of someone here in the present Age. I speak of D'râk."

"The page?" Elladan could not have been more surprised had the sea-spirit named Sauron. He looked upon Ossë's face, the pale eyes agleam with that malicious, sadistic hunger so chilling to behold. Shivering, he wetted his lips and asked what he now feared to know. "What happened to D'râk?"

"Why, you broke his heart, of course."

"Nay! His interest in me was not of the heart but the body."

"So the one cannot exist alongside the other? What then of your wild antics with Maglor? I saw you two in the training fields - shocking!" Ossë chuckled darkly as he backed up, pulling Elladan with him, and then with a thought removed them both to the lowest levels of the island's stony roots. Elladan's startle and gasp made him smirk. "Here we are. Don't you want to know what happened to poor D'râk?"

"He has been removed from the staff here. Maglor sent him away, nothing more." Elladan saw that they were in the corridor at the back of the shrine to the Silmaril.

"And all the other servants were so loyal to this lowly page that they've quit in a show of solidarity? Oh, how little you understand the Avari! How limited your knowledge of what drives the Feänorion soul!"

"I know about the Oath that drove them all to ruin. Maglor is the exception; he alone has atoned and been forgiven."

"Again you presume to predict the judgements of the Valar. Who are you to say who has atoned and who is absolved? You certainly possess the arrogance of Eärendil, but otherwise you are too pale a replica," he said, assessing Elladan up and down. Boldly he took the robe and pulled it open, freely groping the elf's lax genitals so that he yelled and squirmed to get loose. Yet Ossë held him fast, bonds of some terrible magic rendering him immobile and powerless. What happened next sent Elladan's mind reeling.

From the very air the Maia produced the Silmaril, bearing it in his free hand. Gently he traced it over Elladan's body, touching it to the most sensitive regions, rubbing it over nipples, across the tips of ears, down the lean torso to lightly traipse the length of the hardening shaft.

"Daro!" Elladan gasped out even as his hips rocked to bring the head of his penis in contact with the gleaming jewel. Everywhere it touched him warmth and passionate desire flowed and he could not tell if it came from the stone, from Ossë, or from himself. Both horrified and fascinated, he watched as the Maia circled the smooth facets of the gem over the brimming slit, the light of the Silmaril piercing it, infiltrating his cock, stimulating him from the inside. "Why?" he cried, tearing his eyes away to meet the gloating glare of the demi-god.

"You'd love it if I shoved this vibrant stone up your arse, wouldn't you?" he sneered.

"Avgaro!" Elladan's eyes widened to impossible proportions and he shook his head, his protest belied as he bucked into his own grip, masturbating under the cold mocking stare of the vile sea-spirit.

"Yet I would not sully the Silmaril, or my hand, with such base hungers." Abruptly Ossë muttered something beneath his breath and touched the jewel to the tip of the rigid erection, watching as Elladan howled in pain and grabbed his organ with both hands, staggering back to slump to his knees against the wall. "Burns a bit, doesn't it?" said Ossë calmly. "Now you understand something of the sensations that raged through D'râk whenever he was near you. Tell me, Elladan, do you want release?"

Elladan could barely focus on what he was saying, the pain in his penis so intense, a combination of icy heat and unbearable fulness, as though it would burst in his hands. He feared to open his eyes and look for certainly such searing heat had scorched him to a bloody mess. Yet the erection remained, hard as iron in his protective clasp, the tingling remnant of the incredible energy still dancing off the pinnacle of the abused organ. Gradually his thoughts cleared and his heart-rate slowed as the gelid agony subsided a little. He found he was shaking and gulping in noisy sobs of air. He felt violated, helpless. Ashamed.

The Maia stood waiting, watching, tossing the glittering white jewel of living light up into the air and catching it. "You are pathetic," he jeered. "Look at you, kneeling on the floor with your fists locked around you cock, dying for release and afraid to stimulate yourself."

"Why?" Elladan choked out, unable to raise his head and meet the watery aqua gaze.

"Do you think, feeling this way, that you would not follow through and finish the job? Ah, actions speak louder than words," smirked Ossë, his eyes trained on Elladan's hands, which were slowly stroking the aching column of red flesh. "Oh, look at the noble lord, so far above the lowly cravings that move a mere sylvan page's heart. At least he loved the one he lusted over, meaning you. I doubt you feel any tender feeling for me, yet there you are at my feet with your full cock in your hand. Yank on it all you want; it will not provide you with the orgasm you crave. Not until you've completed this little exercise in the depths to which love can make a person sink, or rise as the case may be." He laughed at his joke and went to Elladan, jerking him up to his feet so hard he pulled one of the hands off the inflamed penis. As Elladan groaned in wanton agony, Ossë took that hand and slapped the stone into it.

"Take it with you and go through the corridor. Have you ever visited Rôda Maril and faced Phaja Narwâ, that improbable God the Avari worship? Nay, you have not, for Maglor does not really trust you. He knows that once you see what is there, your so-called love will wither and droop like a spinnaker in the doldrums." He gave Elladan a little shove to get him moving but the elf could only stagger a few steps before sinking to his knees anew, trying to stifle a groan as he frantically worked his cock to no avail.

The need to spill was overwhelming and yet the more he pumped the worse it became with no comforting sense of imminent release. "Maglor, saes, tollo enni," he cried softly, longing for the Noldorin Prince to come and get him away from Ossë, convinced that once he was beyond the Maia's reach the spell would be broken.

"Ai Valar! Calling for him will do no good. Do you think he doesn't know what I'm doing? I told him to deal with you but he couldn't, so all the company you'll have through this ordeal is me." He came and crouched down beside Elladan and looked him over with loathing and disgust, tapping the tip of the engorged cock just to see it twitch. "Manwë's Breath, how could I have chosen you? Whatever smidgeon of Noldorin blood runs in your veins, it has been diluted to the point of extinction. You are not worthy to be the mate of a Feänorian Prince." He stood, dragging Elladan once more to his feet and keeping a firm grip on his elbow, escorting him down the passage, intending to see him all the way to the entrance to the cave if necessary. Before they had gone ten steps their progress was interrupted.

A sudden spray of mist announced the arrival of one supremely disapproving and agitated Maian sea-goddess. Uinan slapped her husband soundly across his sallow cheeks, eyes ablaze with disappointed fury, the blow powerful enough to send him careening against the stony wall. At nearly the same time, she pried Elladan's fist off his erection and briefly settled her own there. Favouring him with a compassionate and apologetic look, her touch instantly removed all sensation of agonizing desire and returned his organ to its normal, unexcited dimensions. Taking his hand again, she placed it over the one holding the Silmaril and gazed into his eyes. Without speaking she conveyed to him that he need not make this journey, that he was free to return to his rooms and await his Lord in peace. After that, she rounded on her husband.

"Nay, Hervess (Wife). It is my duty and you know it. Do not speak to me of cruelty when so much is at stake. He needed a lesson for D'râk's sake. Indeed, I have been lenient on account of Maglor's love, else I would have destroyed him outright."

Uinan regarded her mate with silent censure for some seconds more, her figure melting into the molecules of the air until she was gone. It was enough.

"So be it. You heard my noble Queen of the Deeps, Elladan. You are free to choose. Go and see what kind of love is required of the spouse of a FeÃ¤norian Prince or resume your frivolous fantasy life with your gentle-hearted kin-slayer of a husband."

Elladan stood slowly and straightened, achieving his full height with effort, every bone in his body aching as though he'd been caught in a landslide and buried. He drew his robe close about him, trying to salvage his dignity and quiet the raging slogans of self-doubt and insecurity rejuvenated by Ossë's taunting words. The Maia was right, of course; he was not fit to be Maglor's chosen one. Somehow he'd ruined everything and couldn't understand where or when he'd failed. Everything hurt, his heart and his soul and his mind, bruised and battered by this detestable demon of a Maia for no reason he could name save the fact that he loved Maglor and would stay. Was that not what Ossë had wanted?

"I did. It went too far. He was not supposed to love _you_." Ossë answered the unspoken query, scowling. "At least, not enough to tell you our secrets. It is too late now; you cannot be trusted to remain loyal as he has done. He has reasons you could never imagine."

"Yes, I can. I know them for we have spoken of it. What have I done to make you doubt me?"

"It is what you will do that is the problem, Elladan. You half-elven folk of Tuor's line are all so self-righteous and sanctimonious, preaching about the Will of the Valar when you know absolutely nothing about them or their designs. You believe Maglor has explained what he does here on Himling? I say to you he has revealed only what he thought you would deem acceptable within your narrow, biased, and blind-sided notion of morality."

"Maglor does not see me thus."

"Enough. Another choice stands before you, son of Elrond. Make it."

"I will go on and see this example of pure and selfless love you judge me incapable of achieving," replied Elladan, lifting his chin defiantly though the effort to do so was greater than he might wish and he could not hold the Maia's gaze.

Marking Ossë's slight nod of acknowledgement, Elladan began his trek, his steps slow and shuffling for he was not recovered from the shock his body had received in the power of the Maia's manipulation, a sign of the depth to which he had resisted though this was not evident to him at the moment. The only thing he could focus on was placing one foot ahead of the other, bracing himself against the wall as he went, the Silmaril clutched tight against his chest. From it soothing warmth infiltrated his body, bathing his afflicted heart with tender and sorrowful apologies and soothing promises of protection and love. These were but vague and fleeting, for the allusions to protection elevated Elladan's fears and the gem had no wish for him to suffer more.

_But it is just a stone. However pure and clean the power within it is, it remains confined and cannot truly provide either love or protection. It is only a cheat after all._

Considering how many had died over this compelling and hypnotic bit of fakery, Elladan felt sick. The Silmaril transmitted its own disgust over the notion.

The passage was natural, a great rounded conduit through which fluid must have passed for aeons of time, leaving the walls and floor smooth and polished. It was unadorned and without artificial light from either torches or lamps, which confused Elladan greatly for while the tunnel was by no means bright he could easily make out the walls and his own person. Light came from a source ahead. There were no side-tunnels or caverns opening from it, only the straight channel of the hollow tube, and he plodded along dismally, wondering where Maglor was and whether he truly knew what Ossë was doing to him. Had he given up on their love so quickly? The idea assailed Elladan's heart bitterly and all the soft prodding of the living light could not undo that wound.

What was he expected to find in this cave? Once he faced it, should he survive, what then? Would the Maia leave him be and let him live? Unlikely, his warrior's instincts warned. Whatever was in this Crystal Cave was surely meant to destroy him. Yet Maglor had come this way often and returned without incident. Elladan had heard him singing and playing his harp down here many times over the last six days. Still, if he knew what was here and was its master, then he would not be harmed. The image of a Balrog arose in his mind, for the passage was descending and the air growing warmer with every step. Elladan felt at his side for a sword that was not there.

_What has any of this to do with D'râk?_

Elladan paused, finding he was short of breath, and wiped his hand across his brow, shocked to feel a film of perspiration there. His throat was parched and he longed for water, the air stifling and dry. The logical thing to do was to stop and go back. Whatever was at the end of this tunnel was meant to do Ossë's evil deed for him. Yet if he reversed his direction he would have to encounter the Maia again, and Elladan could not believe the vengeful demi-god would permit him to simply go return unharmed to his rooms as if nothing had happened, no matter Uinan's assurances. Arguing with himself led nowhere and persistent but gentle prompting from the Stone won him over; after resting, he went on.

The passageway cut down and down into the heart of the submerged peak, the light increasing along with the heat, becoming an odd red glow similar to the last rays of Anor at day's end. His legs felt heavier with every step and his lungs laboured to breathe the thickening air. A faint odour permeated his senses which he could not identify, though its detection set off alarms simply because its source was outside his comprehension. The idea of poison filled his thoughts and his heart lurched. The urge to turn and run almost overcame him, but his courage held and he continued, recalling that Maglor had returned form this place unharmed. His grip upon the clear white stone grew tighter.

At last a sudden dip in the tunnel dropped him down a metre and brought him within sight of his destination. The mouth of a cave gaped a mere two metres ahead, the orange gleam spilling out of it bright and garish. A deep breath steadied his nerves and Elladan trudged forward, pausing on the threshold with a sharp gasp. He'd expected something horrible, something unspeakably vile and evil, but such notions could never describe the cavern or its contents. Awe struck, he stumbled in, peering around him and overhead in wonder, for the place was ablaze with the reflected light of a hundred thousand glittering red gems.

Whether they were rubies or garnets he had no idea, but they clustered over the walls of the cave in great bunches, some of them the size of his fist, others sprouting from the floor and the ceiling, hanging in long interlocking, interwoven chains of jewels where stone had spawned stone and all had grown into each other. The effect was dazzling and he wandered amid a garden of frozen blooms. Heat came off them and he recognised that, though it was stronger, more potent and somehow filled with hunger he could not comprehend. He reached out to touch one and at once the white stone in his hands gave off a violent burst of light that startled him and prevented the action. It was the reminder he'd needed; OssÃ« had not sent him here out of kindness. He had to keep his wits sharp.

The cavern was immense, cutting deep into the mountain, the roof of it high and vaulted, twinkling with the vermilion stones, dark as blood, lit from within by a light of their own. He wandered deeper, heading for a second entrance spied in the far right corner, drawn by an urge he couldn't name, something that superseded mere curiosity or stubborn determination to find and confront whatever lurked in this subterranean temple. The word came of its own accord and made Elladan halt. There was a presence here, a sentient soul calling to him, luring him in. He was at the second cave's portal now and leaned forward to gaze into the interior, for the way in was small and the room it accessed also much more compact than the great chamber in which he stood.

The light was not so bright inside but he could make out low forms, mounds or little hillocks, lined up in neat rows across the floor, all encrusted with the red gems. Elladan's eyes adjusted to the dimmer illumination and he realised his assessment of the cave's size was both right and wrong. While it was surely lower from top to bottom, there was no diminishment in its area concerning length and breadth.The cavern extended beyond the range of his vision, all of it filled with these tidy, ruby-studded humps.

_Like individual tombs in a barrow long forgotten. Mayhap these are the graves of Maedhros' warriors, lost in the War of Unnumbered Tears, here enshrouded not in earth and decay but in precious jewels spawned from the heart of the mountain._

Thinking this, he entered with respectful deference, no longer fearing what he would find, and walked among the ordered ranks of bejewelled cairns, for he was certain his guess was right. As he passed, he looked upon them and found confirmation; deep within the facets of the flickering gems he could faintly make out the shape and form of elves reposed in permanent sleep. He could not discern features clearly for too many centuries of time had allowed the gems to multiply, encasing them in coffins of thick, translucent crystal.

The cavern seemed endless and the deeper he went the stronger became the feeling of being watched, or stalked perhaps. His instincts perked up and he clutched the white stone closer. In this environment of Maiar magic and unknown, potent power he knew it would afford him his only protection. Silently, fervently he begged the Silmaril'said, but no answering warmth returned. The gem was cold, its light stark.

He reached an area where the buried soldiers were not from so great an Age ago, judging by the lesser density of the overlapping gems, and he wondered how that could be for Himring had been inundated at the close of the First Age. He imagined Maglor having the dead brought here after the Last Alliance, so to provide a decent burial, yet the notion seemed far-fetched. He paused for the ranks of barrows came to an abrupt end, the row shortened and the last tomb bearing only a thin film of rubies. He bent and looked upon the face beneath, gazing down into amber, upturned eyes and a softly smiling face. An Avarin face. Elladan's heart froze. It was D'râk.

"Nay!" He shouted in horror and staggered back. This could not be. The page had only been dismissed, sent back to his home amid the trees. His indiscretion had not warranted this! "Nae, Maglor!" he wailed in misery, for he could not escape the conclusion: his husband had condemned this ellon and seen to his execution, all because Elladan had feared to admit his lie.

He turned and stumbled deeper into the cave, finding his way to a raised platform of rock, upon it another altar of pearly flow-stone, so pristine, so white compared to the gauche and garish crimson of the devouring rubies. For that is how it seemed now; these blood-thirsty stones were drawing the energy to grow from the decaying bodies entombed so far beneath the wholesome light and air where green trees sheltered the colony of sylvan elves. The altar beckoned, its flat surface inviting for he was weary in body and soul, his heart shattered to know his beloved's hands were still covered in blood, the very hands that caressed him in love dispatched these elves. How many? Too numerous to guess; he hadn't thought to count them as he passed between the bejewelled graves and now he had no desire to put a figure to this infamy, this holocaust.

Elladan leaned against the altar, tears rolling down his cheeks. Why? What reason could justify such mass destruction? There were more bodies lying here than he'd ever seen on any field of battle on which he'd fought. Did Maglor kill off his Avarin lovers after he'd tired of them, feeling some bizarre need to punish them for his betrayal of Elros' remembered love? Nay, there were far too many for that. It made no sense and with a sick and defeated heart he realised that only madness could encompass such carnage and yet permit the perpetrator to go on living. He sank down to the floor, back pressed against the altar, clutching the Silmaril against his breast, and stared up at the glaring, fiery rubies covering the roof of the cave.

"Ai, Maglor, beloved, not this, not this."

Ossë's cryptic warnings made sense now. How could he love the person capable of such murderous acts? Was it done on this very altar, so white and clean? The thought made him shudder in revulsion and he made to rise and get away from it, seeing rivers of blood pouring down its glistening sides. He found it difficult to get his feet under him, his legs heavy and his head buzzing with a strange, foggy noise that cluttered his thoughts and muffled his senses. Elladan dropped back in hazy alarm to his knees, elbow propped atop the gruesome slab. He was poisoned or drugged, that sickly sweet smell carrying his doom into his lungs. So Ossë's predictions proved true to the last: the one he most loved had sent him to this gruesome end in these red catacombs.

He wanted to lie down upon the altar, to sleep and forget this nightmare, to wake in his own bed in Imladris, never bound in matrimony to a murderer.

_Mayhap it would be best never to waken. How could I face Maglor? How can I explain to my parents? I cannot be the one to reveal his grotesque insanity, his lust for killing. Valar! There must be hundreds! If I die, no one will know what is happening here and Maglor will be spared._

That seemed the best course to his impaired brain and Elladan resigned himself to join the uncounted others who had gone before him, those who had loved Maglor and paid for it with their lives. It was right; had he not been the one to cause this fate to be visited upon D'râk? Aye, even Jatmâ said so; the page was his responsibility. He'd broken his heart and sent Maglor to finish him. A sob left him; he was a kin-slayer now, too. He managed somehow to crawl onto the altar and sighed a sad lament, thinking of his parents and his brother who would not know what had become of him. Ah, but that was better than the ugly truth, was it not?

He stared at the red stones overhead, noting with faint interest that they seemed to be pulsing and getting closer. Was the cave collapsing? Nay, he'd have heard the rumble of the stones falling. The ruby gems almost seemed to be moving, clumping together, forming an extension that reached down for him, almost like a limb. He laughed at that thought even as the idea gripped him; now he could make out eyes and a face in the crystals above. A strangely familiar face, the features discernible even beneath the mask of sanguine light, an elven face. The arm that had formed was nearly to his chest now and Elladan gazed at it in surprise, comprehension dawning as the hand reached for him, a still and lifeless hand, a hand crafted from pure mithril to replace the living one cut off by Fingon on Thangorodrim.

"Maedhros."

The head tilted to peer at him, a quizzical expression in the strange glittering eyes that traced his face as if looking for a clue to reveal his identity. The hand descended and the tip of a mithril digit touched Elladan's forehead. He jerked and gasped; the sensation was so cold, ice turned into steel, more frigid than anything he'd known before, and the next instant changed to melting heat. Elladan screamed. The creature's gaze registered surprise and the devastating hand lifted. Desperate to get away, Elladan tried to roll from the altar and found he hadn't sufficient energy to manage it, his body heavy and unresponsive, paralysed, so weighty it might be made of the stone.

The hand approached again and he struggled to evade it, but the finger dove in, relentless, and pressed against his chest this time. His heart was being torn from his body, only that could account for such horrific agony and Elladan no longer registered the shrill shrieking that filled the room as his own voice. The torture increased and his ability to resist diminished; he felt the disgusting thing drawing his life off the way a spider drains a captive bug. The instinct to survive demanded a last effort and somehow he raised his arm, pushing against the dreadful mithril hand with the pale white stone still locked in his rigid fist. A blinding spark of blue and white burst from it upon contact with the entity and when it cleared the pain had ceased.

Elladan was inside the Silmaril again, safe and protected, and within the sanctuary of the crystal lattice he beheld the eldest of Feänor's sons. He watched the last days of the last of the Noldorin Princes unfold, seeing their final effort to secure the Silmarili thwarted, not by the action of the host of the Valar but by the brutal history of their own bloody deeds. He saw how madness overtook them and each fled to his separate doom: Maglor to the sea, Maedhros to his mountain fortress. Into its heart he raced, the pain of the burning stone more than he could stand yet he would not give up the gem.

A convulsion of the earth heaved through Himring; the Valar had begun the destruction of Beleriand. A great rent appeared in the bowels of the mountain and from it an incandescent fountain spewed high into the tunnels. The spray fell upon Maedhros and burned him. In despair he looked into the simmering lava welling up from the deeps and cast himself into it, the Silmaril still clutched in his charred and bleeding hand.

But that was not the end.

The Powers called upon Ulmo and he answered, ordering up his oceans to inundate the lands, creating the island as it now stood, and as the sea water met the molten rock, great were the explosions beneath the surface of the mountain. The lava broke new channels and poured through the foundations of the isolated peak, pooling as the waters boiled off, quenching quickly to freeze around huge bubbles of gas given off in the fomenting eruption, forming the empty caverns that remained as the gases seeped out into the atmosphere.

And even this was not the end, for nothing is ever lost, merely transformed into something new.

The fortress remained hot and periodic invasions of the ocean into its depths created steaming fluids rich in minerals and the living substance of both the Silmaril and Maedhros. Deposited in the caves, the crystals began to grow. No longer pure like the Silmarili, the red gems were infused with all the flaws of the Feänorian Prince but little of his consciousness for it was dispersed amid the many jewels. Mixed with the potent power of the living light, and still tainted by the evil of Melkor, the stones grew, demanding an abundance of energy to increase in size, driven by some incoherent need to break free, to escape the confines of the geode in which they were trapped.

And all of this was as the Valar deemed just. Maglor was called to tend what remained of his brother, lured by the promise of the white jewel that was his to hold if he would do this thing. At first, that was all he could be made to realise, so deep was his break with reason, but Elros refused to desert him and so he was employed as well, without knowledge that the stone had truly been found. How could he believe such ravings, such wild claims that Maedhros was entombed within the growing crystals, the light of his Silmaril now blended with his blasted soul? When he at last learned the truth, it was enough to turn him from the Valar, and from his own kind, forever.

A blood-freezing scream of rage, terror, and despair jerked Elladan from his comfortable seclusion, free of the rending pain and sapping tap of the mutated remnant of Maedhros and the Silmaril. He inhaled loud and long, finding himself on the ground, thrown free of the altar. He felt as though his insides had been liquified and squeezed out of him through his very bones and groaned in misery. Hands reached for him and he shrank back, trying to get away from the terrible entity, only to hear his name and see above him a face he knew. He could not find strength to keep his eyes open to be certain and closed them, felt his mind slipping away.

"We must get him out of here!"

He knew that voice and loved it.

"Maglor?"

"Then go; take him and I will deal with Phaja Narwâ."

Jatmâ, surely.

"No, he is my responsibility. Take Elladan back to Himling Cove. Use the underground passages lest Ossë try to drown you both."

"I know what to do, but how will you stop Phaja Narwâ? Once awakened, he must be appeased."

"Give me the Silmaril, Elladan." Maglor's voice pleaded and carefully he pried the stone from the grasping fingers wrapped around it. "I am sorry; this was not how I wanted it to be. Jatmâ will see you back to Imladris."

"Nay," Elladan tried to protest and found his strength rebuilding now that he was beyond the reach of the devouring rubies. He struggled to rise, clutching at Maglor. "Let me stay; I love:"

A blinding flash of pain assailed his temple and he fell unconscious.


	11. Part Eleven - Maedhros

**Part Eleven - Maedhros**  
When Elladan came around, he was slung over Jatmâ's shoulders, head bobbing and nose bumping against the ellon's back, and confusion filled his mind. He could make no sense of what was happening, the events blurred by the throbbing in his temple, the sticky warmth oozing over his forehead revealing an injury there. The seneschal was running as if Sauron himself pursued them, breathing in frantic gasps to maintain his exhausting pace. Elladan shifted, grasping hold of the servant's tunic in an effort to stabilise his body and abruptly Jatmâ cursed, halting and gripping to Elladan's calves with painful intensity.

"Barjânô, I will set you down if you give me your solemn oath not to try and go back there," he said, his voice choked, altered, thickened with swallowed tears.

"My word," answered Elladan. "Put me down." Yet when his feet met the ground he found his knees unable to hold him up and he landed on his rear with a grunt. Still bewildered, a deep pounding deflecting his efforts to gather his thoughts, Elladan stared at his body and the gaping robe, flushing to find himself on open display. With fumbling hands he drew the ends of the garment over himself and raised questioning eyes to Jatmâ. There were smeared streaks down the seneschal's cheeks. "What is happening?"

"Why ask me? I am not Vala." The words burst out in bitter acrimony as the servant's shoulders rose and fell. "All is lost or all is gained, depending on how one views such things."

"I don't understand," Elladan complained. "Speak plainly, Jatmâ. Where is Maglor?"

"Ai! He struck you a blow to the head, that explains it. You remember nothing?"

"Nay, I recall the cave and the rubies - Maedhros! We must go back; Maglor is still in there with that thing!" Elladan scrambled to regain his feet, clawing the rough walls of stone to do it, and stood gasping with the effort, all his weight resting against the cool stone wall of the tunnel. "Help me; we must go to him," he pleaded, eyeing the seneschal with renewed confusion as fresh tears arose and spilled down the Avarin elf's face.

"No. B'rôna Kâno ordered me to take you back to Imladris," he protested. "You gave your word not to try and go back there. It cannot be done; nothing can be done. Phaja Narwâ is insatiable; not a thousand Avari souls have appeased him. Mayhap his brother and the white Stone can change that. So Ossë has said from the beginning, but B'rôna Kâno would not go in."

"Nay! I will not accept that! What I have seen in the Silmaril tells me"

"The Stone shows you what you want to see!" shouted Jatmâ. "Nothing more. Have you understood nothing about those gems? They are false and self-serving. They crave to live and that is all. Perhaps it is right, for every living thing has the instinct to survive. Yet the cost, the cost!" Jatmâ broke off, a sob escaping him as he doubled over, clutching his gut as he fought down the surge of bile burning up his oesophagus.

"You cannot believe this," Elladan chided. "Even if it is true, the Silmaril would not hurt Maglor. He is the only one protecting it. Let us go back, for it may not be too late. The white Stone protected me and so it may do for him. Come, show me the way."

"I will not. I am not so cruel as that, for you to find him as you found D'râk. I would not have permitted that either, truly, but Ossë is so cold, so heartless. I did not mean to blame you for D'râk, Ell-Adan, only for you to give thought to the repercussions of your power over B'rôna Kâno."

"No, he is not lost!" Elladan raged, ignoring the allusion to the page. "I _cannot_ walk away when there may be hope. He is my life, Jatmâ," Elladan pleaded, working his way ponderously along the wall, step by shaky step, hand over hand. Never had he known exhaustion this deep, this debilitating, save once when a wound spilled so much of his blood he'd nearly perished. He panted with the effort and quickly expended his strength, sinking to his knees hard enough to make him groan. Jatmâ was beside him in seconds.

"We must do as B'rôna Kâno says. We will continue to the end of this passage and enter the forest. We will hide amid the leaves and pray that Ossë does not come looking for us. Uinan is our only hope now, for she alone can temper his rashness. Lean on me, Ell-Adan, and let us go from here."

"I will not leave him!" Elladan shoved away the grasping hands and staggered to his feet, once more dragging himself along in the direction he'd come, or at least he assumed this was the right way. Realising he could not tell, for the tunnel was level, neither plunging nor rising, he cursed and turned furious eyes on the seneschal. "Your obedience is worthless if you permit him to die!" he shouted.

"And your disobedience is pointless if you are destroyed trying to save him," the servant countered. "There is another way. Once we reach the forest and my people learn what has happened, they will give aid. We will need an army to defeat the entity in the cave and you will lead them, Barjânô. They will follow you even to that dire place of death." It was a pure falsehood, but Jatmâ could not feel grief over it considering the number of lies abounding in this tragic tale. He had to get Elladan to safety and if a lie would do it, then a liar he would be. He moulded his features into a mask of rectitude and held out his hand. For a moment he believed he'd succeeded.

Elladan gazed at him hard, scrutinising the stern countenance in search of signs of deceit, but Jatmâ had never lied to him, so far as he knew, and so he could not guess what to look for. In the end he had to trust in the seneschal's love for his master, for that was real and true. He nodded briefly and let the servant slip beneath his arm, taking most of his weight so that they could make better progress. Yet no sooner were they underway than his mind cleared and he balked, refusing to budge another step.

"If we wait it will be too late," he insisted, "and no army is required for we will not destroy the - the Phaja Narwâ. I only want to get Maglor out; you and he managed to gain my freedom without any other help. We go back, Jatmâ!"

"I cannot take you in there."

"I am going and you would have to do me harm to stop me. Are you prepared for that?" Elladan could see this threat made no impact whatsoever on the stalwart seneschal and quickly switched tactics. "If he perishes in there I will never forgive you. I will surely fade of grief. You will become a kin-slayer twice over. Besides, you know you want to go back, too. You love him like a son and how would you face Asmalindë if you let him die alone in there without at least trying to save him? What say you to that?" To Elladan's surprise, Jatmâ laughed softly, sadness in the utterance and gentle affection in the eyes trained upon him.

"So be it. I cannot tell Hervessen that I did not at least try, nor would I wish to brave Maglor's wrath if you fall to the grieving death. We go, but now though I remove your obligation to your word given earlier, a new promise I demand: when we reach the caves, you will remain outside and let me go in for B'rôna Kâno."

"That is too much to ask and you will need help."

"Possibly, but you are in no condition to give it, Ell-Adan. Phaja Narwâ depleted you almost beyond recovery and I am certain Ossë was not gentle prior to taking you to the caves. Agree or we stay here, arguing while time slips away. What say you to that, Barjânô?"

Elladan cast such a forlorn, defeated look upon the seneschal that Jatmâ almost relented, yet he remained firm until the young lord gave a grudging nod.

"So be it. Onward, Jatmâ."

Speed was essential yet the best they could manage was a hobbling, stumbling stride as sluggish as a stag bounding through a muddy mire. Elladan condemned his weakness and tried to force more work from his exhausted muscles without success. They were making little enough progress when an unforeseen obstacle put an end to their struggle. A great tremor passed through the rocky floor beneath their feet and an ominous rumble growled up from the interior of the mountain. Dust and small pebbles rained upon them and then all went still. Hearts hammering, the pair looked to one another and in silent accord reversed direction, hastening with every sinew toward the surface.

A second grumbling shiver rocked them, tossing them against the wall as Elladan lost his balance, and behind them a fulminating roar resounded from the depths of Himling. The passage shook and a great slab of the ceiling broke away and slammed into the ground behind them, missing Jatmâ by less than half a metre. A choking cloud of dust arose and the shaking continued, more stones falling in the weakness made by the breach. A huge rent formed in the wall beyond the fallen slabs and through it spewed a fine saline spray of sea water. The entire tunnel must soon collapse of fill with water and it was enough to stir the panic-frozen elves to action.

Jatmâ bent and grabbed Elladan at the knees, rising with the warrior draped again over his shoulders, and ran with staggering paces along the trembling tube of stone, dodging blocks of rock and leaping debris already littering the way. Another great convulsion rocked him against the wall and he nearly fell, but terror helped give him the strength and energy to go on. They were both shouting, or screaming, or belting out curses and encouragement in the same breath, which was gasping and fraught with fits of gagging as the tunnel filled with a thick haze of drifting dust.

As abruptly as it had started, the cacophonous shaking stopped and the passage stabilised. On Jatmâ ran, hearing clearly now that Elladan was both cursing and crying, defaming Ossë while begging the seneschal, wailing Maglor's name in between. He beat on the servant's back and pulled the long streaming auburn hair, but Jatmâ took no heed. Too well he knew; the trembling could begin again and bury them both. At last the way ahead grew bright and he could hear voices. Soon Avarin elves caught sight of them, exclaiming in surprise, and dashed in, lending their aid to the desperate seneschal, easing Elladan from him and bearing him supported between them. They exited into the sunlight, Elladan and Jatmâ covered in silt and dust so that they looked as grey as ghosts, and the Avari set Elladan on his feet.

"Nae! Maglor!" he cried, falling to his knees as he clutched at the servant. "What have we done? He is trapped. Valar, crushed or drowned! This cannot be! Ai, Maglor!"

"We could do nothing else," said Jatmâ. "I could do no more. I am sorry, Ell-Adan, Yavanna knows."

"No! We have to try and go back. We must use one of the boats. Help me!" He tugged frantically at the seneschal's tunic.

"I would not risk you that way. Ossë will be waiting in the deeps for exactly that. You will stay and I will go."

"I must go with you; he is my mate, my husband. Would you deny me my right to"

"To what? To see him dead? Maybe that is your right but I do deny it. I swear that I will bring him back to you, Ell-Adan, if I can reach him. Do not waste your life in so hopeless a quest. The caves are the lowest part of the fortress; they most likely collapsed first and that is what brought the passage down."

But Elladan would not hear reason and in the end Jatmâ had to order his people to take hold of Ohtatyaro Nessa and prevent his escape. They bound him, careful to shield his nakedness, and led him along through the tree lined pathways. Before too much time had passed, he began to falter, exhaustion, grief, and the strain his body had endured under Ossë torments and Phaja Narwâ's ill-use wearing him down. He could go not further and was helped into a nearby talan, tears now falling unchecked as he realised he would not make it even to the beach. He had failed Maglor utterly. Silently, he prayed for grief to claim him quickly and slumped down upon the crude cot, unconscious almost immediately.

  
Elladan awoke to find himself back in the cottage by the edge of the forest, cleaned of the grit and grime of the earthquake, dressed in soft cotton comfort, tucked into the bed in the room he'd been given when first he'd come to Himling Cove. That seemed so long ago and yet less than a single coronar (one year of the sun) had transpired. How he had come to the little house was irrelevant, how long he had lain senseless unimportant. He felt wrung out and though he realised at once why his entire being was sore, his soul riven and rent, his heart cleaved, scored with a thousand lethal lacerations, yet he could give no voice to his sorrow, the depth of it stealing thoughts and silencing the tongue that would speak them. Maglor was not with him and little else registered in his reality.

Jatmâ had not returned. Asmalindë was there at the bedside and had no trouble keeping Elladan immobile, for he could find no reason to rise. She forced water past his lips and pressed lembas into his hands. He swallowed the one but refused the latter and she had not the courage to scold or berate him, seeing the grave condition of his spirit. Instead she went and retrieved a shirt from Maglor's room, giving it silently into the young lord's hands, caressing his bowed head as he bent his face into it and wept bitterly, for in this way he knew she expected only the worst. He cried himself into oblivion.

"Ell-Adan, awaken Barjânô, saes."

The voice was quiet but insistent and accompanied by a gentle but firm shake of his shoulders. Elladan groaned, or thought he did, but in truth could not be sure if the sound was in his mind or in the air. The hand gripped tight and squeezed, pure relief within that grasp, and so he must have been audible. He sighed, trying to work out the speaker, for the voice was familiar but his senses remained adrift.

"Ell-Adan, open your eyes, please," urged Jatmâ. He gave another soft jiggle to the limp, lax frame and peered intently at the creased and pain-warped face. He could barely recognise this as the same warrior who had arrived in Lindon so short a time ago. "Saes, I need to see your eyes."

Elladan struggled to obey, fighting the desire to return to the comfort of unconsciousness where he did not have to know that Maglor was gone, where his heart never ached and his soul could rest in easy ignorance. Yet he would see the Avarin seneschal and thank him, for he had risked all to save him from the cave in. He blinked heavy lids and focused on the pensive, worried visage peering down upon him.

"Jatmâ, mellon," he managed, the volume of the vocalisation so faint a whisper was a shout in comparison. "I did not thank you." There was something he wanted to ask but truly could not make his tongue form those words and he stared in bald apprehension.

"Be at peace, Barjânô, there is no need to exert yourself. I will say what needs to be said; you needn't ask it of me." He perched on the edge of the mattress and helped Elladan sit up, propping him against the pillows and gently pulling his hair back from his face. "Take some water, for you have been unconscious nearly two days." The command was obeyed, the cool water drained voraciously from the cup pressed against Elladan's lips, and Jatmâ smile approvingly. "He lives," he said simply and found himself supporting the recovering warrior, Elladan's joyful arms wrapped around him.

"Jatmâ! How is he? Where is he? I must go to him." Elladan hugged the Avarin seneschal unabashedly, meeting Asmalindë's watery smile over her husband's shoulder.

"It is too soon for that, Ohtatyaro Nessa. He is in about the same condition as you. Time is needed for you both to regain strength. You could not make the crossing nor could he. Be content to know he lives." Jatmâ extricated himself as gently as possible and pushed Elladan back against the pillows.

"But what happened? How did he survive the cave in? What of that vile Phaja Narwâ?"

"Phaja Narwâ is not vile," scolded Jatmâ. "Do not defame that which you do not understand. Without Phaja Narwâ, the renewal of Arda will not come to pass. Just as the white stone has been cleansed of the Dark Lord's taint, so must be Phaja Narwâ. It will take time, but we shall see it done."

"All right, I apologise," Elladan was impatient to learn of his husband's fate. "Now tell me what happened. Wait, how did you both get to the caves if Ossë was holding you captive?" Once the effects of the strange drug had worn off, Elladan had decided there must be some other factors at work, as terrible as the ruby catacombs made Maglor seem. There had to be an explanation that exonerated the minstrel. Ossë and his diabolical cruelty immediately came to mind.

"That is simplicity itself," said Jatmâ. "Uinan released us. She does not allow Ossë to go too far, whether his actions are ordained by the Powers or not. Maglor, Phaja Narwâ, and now you have the special blessing of the Valar."

"This is an example of benediction?" Elladan scoffed. "We might all have perished but for Uinan. Ai! How can she love such a demon?" he spat the words, considering the kind, playful nature of the sea goddess in comparison to Ossë's sadistic tendencies.

"Many will wonder how you can love Maglor, yet there is no doubt that you do. He has easily killed as many as Ossë, if not more, all of them his own kind, all of them without the sanction of the Valar. You see that he has tried to change and make amends, thus you forgive him. So it is for Uinan. Her love made Ossë's redemption possible just as your love has salvaged Maglor."

Elladan flinched at the reference to the kin-slaying and shuddered, a vivid vision of the crimson cairns arising in his mind. "Jatmâ all those dead elves in the cavern, did Maglor know? Did he send them to Maedhros?"

"He knew, but he did not send them there, Ell-Adan."

He stared at the sylvan seneschal in a mixture of disgust and acceptance, for while he might abhor the truth at least Jatmâ offered a slim possibility of excusing Maglor. "Tell me of my husband."

"There is little I can say," Jatmâ shrugged, uneasy in his heart, and looked away briefly. What Elladan wanted him to reveal he was not yet prepared to do. That was Maglor's responsibility, though now the hope of him undertaking it seemed lost. Instead, he spoke of recent events. "He has said little of what occurred after I carried you out, only that Maedhros knew him, really knew him, called him by name. That never happened before. He said that Maedhros realised what was going on in Rôda Maril, what he had been doing all these many centuries, and nearly perished from the horror of it."

"What _is_ going on in there, Jatmâ?" Elladan demanded. "The red demonPhaja Narwâ was trying to kill me, stealing the light of my soul. Ossë saiddid Maglor truly know about the others? Did he know about D'râk?"

"He knew."

"Ai, no, you cannot mean that!" Elladan felt his gorge rise. "He cannot have done that! I am going to be sick."

"No, you are not," commanded Jatmâ sternly. "You are a seasoned warrior and have seen every kind of horror one being can inflict upon another, or most kinds. Be strong and take yourself in hand." At the same time, he glanced behind him to his wife and she hurried forward with a small flask. He took it and made Elladan drink the tonic. "Only a sip." He watched colour return to Ohtatyaro Nessa's cheeks and grunted approval.

"Valar forgive me, I am responsible for D'râk's death, Jatmâ," Elladan groaned. "I am aa" he swallowed, finding it impossible to speak the words aloud.

"Go on," the seneschal folded his arms over his chest and gave a terse nod. "Say the rest, Ell-Adan."

"I am kin-slayer now, too," he whispered, face wan and weary, eyes haunted and frightened.

"No, you are not. Do not fault yourself, Barjânô," stated Jatmâ. "It is not true."

"I am not a protector," Elladan shook his head in disgust. "I wasn't able to protect Maglor and I sent D'râk to a horrible death. To feel that thing sucking the soul out of me was the greatest terror I have ever known, the most horrendous agony, and I was helpless against it. To know I made someone else undergo the same torture is unbearable. Ai, what shall I say to his family?"

"There is nothing for you to say. They will not fault you, nor would any of my people. None have fared so well against either Ossë or Phaja Narwâ. You are stronger than you know but even you are not Vala. Some things are beyond your control, Barjânô.

"D'râk was beyond anyone's help. It is true; he gave over his life to Phaja Narwâ freely. When he was but a child, he received the Call and has only waited this long for he believed he was to receive a gift for his sacrifice. At first he thought it was being Maglor's paramour, but this did not satisfy his heart. He knew when he saw you that you were the one he'd waited for."

"That is madness," Elladan barked, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. "I never _never_ gave him reason to think that. I told him plainly I was not for him."

"Do not be so angry," scolded Jatmâ. "Is it so horrible to learn that you were loved? That is madness to me. You must forgive him, Ell-Adan. He could not help whom he loved and he truly regretted causing trouble between you and B'rôna Kâno. He has atoned."

Elladan stared at him, a sick cold weight settling over his heart to hear these words. Yet one thing gave him small relief. "You say he heard this 'call' when he was but a child? Maglor did notgive him to Phaja Narwâ?"

"Is this what you believed?" Had Elladan not been so ill, Jatmâ would have slapped him. "B'rôna Kâno has not taken up a sword since the First Age. I do not believe he would do so even to defend you, Ell-Adan. Furthermore, he despises our beliefs and has tried for centuries to change them. He believes the sacrifices keep the evil part of the Silmaril's Spirit alive instead of driving it out."

"Sacrifices? All of those in the cave went freely? Valar, that _is_ madness!" Elladan was shocked. "He was right, too. The disgusting thing craves souls to grow and your people have been feeding it." His stomach rolled in revulsion of such a concept, seeing in his memory all those jewel encrusted coffins, and he clapped a hand to his mouth, grabbing the basin Jatmâ held out, heaving up only clear acid and bitter bile into the bowl.

Jatmâ handed this off to Asmalindë and gave Elladan a cloth to wipe his mouth and another sip of the tonic to cleanse his palate. Elladan glared at him.

"That is abominable. These are elves of which we speak, the First-born of Iluvatar. Such are not meant to be fodder for demons!"

"You think this way because you do not understand," the seneschal defended his faith. "We know there is evil there and it must be driven out, for there is much good in the Silmaril and in Maedhros. He was a loved and revered Lord to his people; he fought against Melkor and his hordes unceasingly. We have known this for long Ages from our distant kin the Laiquendi. The entity made of the two combined, the jewel and the prince, must be purified, for Phaja Narwâ is the one who will be sacrificed in the end. When the Last Day comes, he must take the white stone and with it join. The two together must then freely give up their Light to the Music, permitting it to remake Arda after the terrible wars between the Dark and the Pure.

"But Phaja Narwâ is young for a God. How can he know what to do if no one teaches him? He must learn what sacrifice is, what love is. We are teaching him this. This is the part the Avari play. There is great honour in this for those who were Called and for their families. Now that Maedhros has truly awakened and his mind fills Phaja Narwâ, no more souls will be Called. That is what caused the earthquake, for Maedhros sealed the underground passages linking Ered Lhuin and the caves of Himling. The cavern itself was undamaged and in this we have been given a glimpse of the power Phaja Narwâ will wield in the shaping of the earth."

Elladan knew not how to counter such a creed, for he could not reconcile it logically and felt the Avari had been misled into such a notion, probably by the despicable remnant of Melkor still extant within the grotesque entity. And yet, surely the Valar must know. Could the Powers condone such wholesale slaughter of innocents, self-imposed or not, all for the sake of this living light and its promise of rebirth for the world they had built? While the idea was disgusting, he could not discount it, recalling the stories of the loss of the Two Trees and how Yavanna desired the Silmarili to bring them back to life. Denied by Feänaro, the Valar permitted Finwë to be murdered and Melkor to steal the jewels, this rather than leave them in the Noldo's keeping.

"Then it was not Ossë who caused the tunnel to collapse. What has become of him?"

"Gone back to the deeps in Uinan's bad graces, as usual when he has been more than expedient in his methods. He could have explained things and given you the chance to prove your loyalty to Hîr Maglor, but instead he chose to let Phaja Narwâ devour your soul." Jatmâ shrugged. "I for one hope he remains in his watery realm forever and leaves us in peace."

"So do I," agreed Elladan, but he was troubled for he remembered that Uinan had given him a choice but no knowledge sufficient to make that decision with any clarity. Why had she permitted him to go, knowing what awaited him there? They must both have wanted him to not only find out about Maedhros but confront him. Had they hoped he could redeem Phaja Narwâ? Were all the Valar and their minions so utterly selfish that every person was expendable?

"I don't know if they are selfish," said Jatmâ. "I only know the Avari who gave their faer to this cause are promised the finest places in Aman. They will be reborn there, safe from all harm, exalted higher than the Caliquendi. It is they who will return when Arda is remade; they who will rule here."

"I pray you are right. They have earned glory unrelenting." Elladan tried to stifle a yawn and failed, blinking as heavy slumber crept upon him, dragging him back into the soft comfort of black forgetfulness. Maglor was alive; D'râk had gone to his end willingly. More than this he could not contain and gratefully permitted the solace of sleep to woo him into its dreamless embrace.

Jatmâ and Asmalindë exchanged glances fraught with anxious concern.

"When will you tell him?" she asked, her voice stricken with unshed tears.

"Not until I must. I am hoping Erestor arrives before that moment, yet the messenger left just four days ago. Nae, Hervessen, we could still lose them both. I must go back to the fortress; perhaps he will heed my words and regain his senses."

  
The sky was dark when next he woke, the clouds heaped in threatening banks of smudged charcoal, heavy with tumult and tempest, long black vapourous claws raking the choppy seas into a high green wall as they came ashore. The wind shrieked from the north west, strong and fierce with violent gusts that slammed against the cottage and rattled the panes of the windows as though hoping to shatter them. Indeed, the fury of the typhoon promised devastation and destruction, threatening to tear away what remained of the sandy dunes so to inundate the forest and shift the coastline inward to lap at the very toes of Ered Lhuin.

The hearth blazed and, though the temperature was not frigid, Elladan was glad for the cheerful flames and their crackling conversation, save when a blast of air dived down the chimney and infused the room with a fume of grey ash and blue smoke, as now. He coughed and waved a cushion through the air to clear it, glancing nervously at the windows to evaluate the durability of the heavy, leaded panes as another gust shook them furiously. Asmalindë came in from the kitchen and gave a reproving frown, for he was not supposed to be up, having promised to recline on the sofa if she would permit him to leave his room. Yet he was impatient and worried, for if Maglor was recovering would he not have sent for him?

"Don't say it," he held up apologetic hands and hastened to sit down. "I only rose to add wood to the fire and check the windows. Are summer storms always this severe in Himling Cove? Is the cottage safe or ought we to move to the forest?"

"Nay the house will hold fast, as it has done these many centuries. Most weather spends itself before reaching us, yet every now and again Hîr Ulmo calls up a mighty gale and scours the beaches clean. We say he is chastising Ossë when squalls like this build into a mighty fist and hammer on the land."

"Will Jatmâ attempt the crossing in such perilous seas?"

"Aye, he is skilled enough and the distance short enough. Don't fret; he'll be here anon," she promised.

Truthfully, the seneschal couldn't hurry fast enough to suit her, for Asmalindë was finding it difficult to think of things to talk about. Elladan was anxious and edgy, wanting nothing more than to be reconciled with Maglor, yet now even the weather forbade the reunion. There was nothing wanting in his intuitive faculties, either, and he sensed the tense, apprehensive atmosphere of the little cabin easily enough. She knew his mind was filling with all manner of wild imaginings, everything from Maglor's death to the minstrel's rejection of his love. Asmalindë did not want to be the one to confirm the latter. She placed a mug of hot tea near his elbow and went to the bookcase to select a volume.

"Asmalindë, please sit and talk with me," Elladan began, trying to bolster his courage to bring up the subject of his beloved. Three days had gone by without any news but he sensed apprehension in Asmalindë's manner. Still, he would not permit his mind to form the most likely answer.

"I will, as long as you do not go on about B'rôna Kâno. I am here, as are you; there is nothing I can tell you," she said, not without sympathy but the words came out harsher than she meant. His face fell and his spirit visibly sagged. With a sigh she settled beside him on the sofa and soothed a caress across his shoulder.

"I miss him," he said quietly.

"Ai! I know it, Barjânô." She gathered him up for a hug; these days Elladan seemed very much younger than his years, which were few enough, and she could not help feel he should have family near him at such a crisis.

Elladan gratefully accepted her consoling embrace, sighing as he settled his head on her shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of the woods that always clung to her. His naneth carried that same aroma, an eternal link to the trees that had been her home until her marriage to Elrond. Elladan found himself suddenly homesick, longing to see her, to speak to Elrohir and make peace with him, to welcome his new law-sister with proper courtesy and affection. He should write and tell them, but found he had not the heart for it, not until he knew how it was all going to end.

"Does he miss me?" he whispered and his heart sank as Asmalindë clutched him tighter, the truth in her touch while her words promised reassurance she did not believe.

"Of course he does. He is just taking longer to recover, or perhaps he is spending time with Phaja Narwâwith Maedhros."

"Is he truly that ill?" Elladan sat back to study her anxious eyes. "If so, I should go to him."

"Nay, I would not say he is ill so much asconfused," she hedged.

"What does that mean? Asmalindë, I need to know what is happening over on Himling."

"I told you; I have no more information than you."

"Nay, there is something you fear to tell me; I can see it in your eyes. Surely you know I will find out. It is about Maglor, yes?" he coaxed, forcing his mind to remain calm and his face to assume a placid expression.

"Ell-Adan, it is not for me to say."

"So there is something, quite important, too, I warrant. It is useless to persist in silence; say what you know."

"Nay!" She rose abruptly and headed back to her kitchen, Elladan right behind her.

"Fine, then I will take the boat and go over to Himling and find out for myself," he threatened.

"With this storm about to come ashore? Nay, do not make me responsible for your death. You are dear to me Ell-Adan, and not just because you are B'rôna Kâno's beloved."

"If this is true than do not keep me in the dark. You have to know this is driving me mad. Speak and I will not hold you accountable for anything that happens afterward."

"You are going over there anyway, aren't you?" She could see in his eyes that this was true and now she was truly distressed. "Ai! This is Maglor's foolishness! What is wrong with him? It is time to stop punishing himself, especially when doing so hurts others so much" her tirade dwindled off as she saw comprehension dawn in Elladan's eyes. "Nae, Ell-Adan, he does not know what he is doing, really he does not," she insisted, gripping his arm tight for he had gone so pale she feared he would collapse. Indeed, he dropped heavily into the chair she pulled out from the kitchen table and dropped his head into his hands. Yet he remained quiet and she dared hope he would not do anything so rash as try to sail across the inlet.

"He still means to send me away," he said quietly, surprised that he could speak the words so firmly and without breaking into despairing tears. He thought about that, feeling around in his soul for the source of this unexpected strength, and found that he had suspected something of the kind for at least two days. If Maglor had been so ill that he could not sail, Jatmâ would have ferried Elladan over to tend him, hoping the presence of his mate would give B'rôna Kâno purpose to fight for life. The only reason for the two not to be together by now was Maglor's command. "I will hear this from his mouth," said Elladan and he rose, pushing past Asmalindë, "and then he will hear my answer, for I will not go. We are mated; he cannot cast me off so easily."

"Mayhap that is true but then wait for the storm to pass. There is no need to hurry and risk your life. Maybe he will come to his senses in the mean time. Jatmâ is there, trying to make him see his error. Let him work on B'rôna Kâno." She followed him, snatching at his shirt only to be impatiently brushed off.

"No, it needs to be me. If he can look me in the face and speak those words, telling me to go, telling me he does not love me, that I am not his mate, then"

"You are not the first," Asmalindë blurted out, flinching at the horror this wrought upon his face as he turned to gape at her. "Forgive me, but you must know this. He abandoned Erestor's Nana as soon as Elros came of age." To her surprise, this news brought a softening of his features and he came and wrapped her in his arms, pressing a kiss atop her head.

"You are good to me, Asmalindë, a second naneth." He smiled kindly at her. "I know about Erestor's mother; her diary is among the relics preserved in the Gallery."

"What of her, then, for surely she is reborn and dwells in Aman? What will you do when some day we all return there, or she comes here after the Remaking, and makes her claim?"

"I will share," Elladan shrugged, blushing faintly and dropping his eyes away. "No doubt my place will not be deemed honourable among the High Elves, it certainly won't be so among my people. As long as Maglor will have me, she may have his wealth and the title that goes with his noble name. I will have his heart."

With that he went out into the gale and made his way to the beach, his spirit emboldened with hope, for surely he had only to see Maglor, to explain everything, to speak the truth at last and declare his love anew. Then Maglor would see him, Elladan, and understand who it was that loved him, whose love had healed him finally. Not Elros. Never Elros.

As for AsmalindÃ«, she ran toward the forest to find help.

He found the shelter of the rocky berth and dragged the catamaran from its cover of canvas and sand, pushed it with effort into the sea, which relentlessly drove it back toward shore, and dared sails even near the rocks for the ocean was so high. The hollow hulls shuddered under the impact of the punishing waves, the sails wailed and strained as though to split in two, and Elladan pulled on the oars with every ounce of his strength; the craft inched toward Himling. Yet no sooner had he made deeper water than a mighty curl of a wave caught the twin-hulled craft and slammed it hard against the unyielding wall of the trough beneath it, shattering the frame of the boat and plunging Elladan into the raging surf.

The green shroud covered him, dragging him down and pulling him out, capturing him in a rip-tide, sucking him toward the open sea through a channel beneath the surface. Desperately he clawed at it, kicking off shoes, kicking to gain purchase in the shifting churning liquid, battling to get free and make for the dim glaucous sky, lungs burning for relief, eyes burning with salt and seaweed, heart thundering in terror and determination. He would make it. He would.

Arms grappled him at the waist, bare and scaly arms, the long bony hands at the ends of them webbed and tipped in sharp nails. He looked into the face of Ossë, contorted with rage and hatred. The arms squeezed harder as Elladan fought; he could not get free. He opened his mouth and screamed. The next instant they broke surface, much closer to shore than he'd have thought possible, and the sea-spirit tossed him with fury into the shallows. He landed with a painful splash, hard rock beneath him, and rolled with a groan. The water closed over his head. Sputtering, he gathered his knees beneath him in sand that was draining away faster than water through a sieve, holes forming that drew him down. A hand snatched him at the underarm and hauled him upright, the angry Maia yanking him nose to nose.

"Obstinate, arrogant _half-elf_!" snarled Ossë. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Leave me be!" shouted Elladan, trying with all his might to get that disgusting hand off him without effect.

"Going to him, are you? Not Allowed, pretender, forbidden! Didn't Jatmê tell you? He doesn't want you. Fool! He doesn't need you anymore." He shook Elladan till his head lolled. "Your job's finished; go home!"

"No! You lie, as ever, as always! Everything you say is false, everything you do a deceit!" Elladan shrieked, kicking out to trip the Maia and send him flailing backwards into the surf. Free for a second, he bounded toward the strand, heading further up the cove where the long boat was moored. He was easily caught, this time hoisted out of the water and carried like a sack to the sand where he was thrown down hard. All the wind left him and he lay in aching terror trying to remember how to breathe as Ossë loomed over him.

"I am not here to destroy you, though the idea is not without its temptations, yet that is not the will of Manwë," Ossë informed him coldly. "Your heart has been judged worthy of our trust; your actions at last prompted Maglor to do what we despaired he ever would: confront Phaja Narwâ and awaken his brother's mind. All this time, so many Avarin souls consumed, but he would not go in. He wouldn't risk his precious White Stone, fearing it would be absorbed by its counterpart, so dark, so hungry.

"The Powers decided that you would go in and we would see whether he would come and save you or not. As you are here, you know the answer to that. Be comforted in this, your love healed Maglor. He is himself again, in possession of the clear, sharp intellect and indefatiguable courage for which all in his lineage are known. That is what we brought you here to do. Now the brothers can combine their efforts to tame the Red Stones and drive out the last of Melkor's black thoughts from them. The greatest secrets of our world are now under your protection. We trust you will not reveal them to anyone. Mind you show sufficient appreciation for this high honour. You are free to return to your former life, son of Elrond."

"That is why you sent me in there to face thatthat thing?" Elladan yelled, edging away. "What if Maglor had not come in time? It would have devoured my soul! Heartless limlug! You poisoned me! Youyou _touched_ me! Was that the will of Manwë, too?"

"Nay, that was my idea. Can I help it if you have so little self-respect and even less self-esteem? The ploy worked; you were sufficiently humbled to obey and did not question why I gave you the White Stone. Uinan made certain Maglor was free not only to make his decision but to act on it. Or not. As to your peril, numerous souls have been lost to the Red Stones; yours would be but another among thousands," he shrugged. "Regrettable, but it was a risk the Powers deemed necessary. For the rest, I have observed Maedhros feeding many times over the centuries and I know what he does is excruciatingly painful to the victims. The drug is used by the Avari 'pilgrims' to eliminate that undesirable side effect. It was supposed to render you senseless before you ever realised what was happening to you. I am not without mercy after all, you see, but apparently your constitution is particularly sturdy and the dose was insufficient."

"Mercy! How is it merciful to send me to certain death, and such a horrible one? I do not believe anything you say; I do not believe the Valar know anything about any of this!" Elladan rose and trotted on shaky legs toward the small harbour, halting when he saw the boat gone. "Neither did Maglor know of your plot; every time you open your lips, only lies spill from them."

"Valar, you are as dense as you are stubborn! Jatmâ took the skiff to Himling days ago. You cannot get there, Elladan. Even if you could, Maglor does not want you now that he knows the truth. You are finished here. Go home!" Ossë flung out his hand toward the shore, a gesture one might use to scare off a stray dog.

"Then, then II will" Elladan was at a complete loss, glancing about him at the windswept shore and across to the desolate island. He had to get across somehow. This could not be true, what the despicable creature said. Maglor loved him. "I'll go to Círdan; I'll secure a boat from the Faladhrim in Harlindon. You cannot keep me from him, Ossë."

"I can and will."

"You will have to kill me then!"

On his feet, Elladan backed away and turned to run. He was caught by the ankle and ended up with a mouth full of acrid sand. Coughing and spitting, he was flipped over on his back and a heavy booted foot stamped on his stomach, once more driving the air from his lungs. He could not even cry out from the pain. Eyes bulging he gaped at the vengeful demon's face, the features twisted in savage rage.

"Be glad that I follow orders so well, son of Elrond, that trait for which you would damn me. But for my contemptible penchant for deference and obedience, I would do just that!" shouted Ossë. "How I despise you! Even after all this, you still have the gall to judge me, to condemn _me_ and exonerate your precious kin-slayer. The Powers say you will not go to Himling now or ever lest it be Maglor's wish. And HeWillNotHaveYou!" He bent low and screamed in Elladan's ear, then stood back shaking his head in disgust, arms akimbo. "Understand, half-elf?"

"No," Elladan felt the finality of this verdict, a vicious stab striking at his heart, tears already forming despite his verbal denial. "He would not do that. He loves me; he needs me."

"He loves Elros. He has always loved Elros. No matter how much you might want it, you will never be Elros," sneered the Maia, a malicious gleam in his cold, cutting eyes. "He does not need such as you, a pale imitation at best. Crawl back to the cabin and wait, for your people are coming for you. Will you live, I wonder, or die of shame?"

"I will hear it from him," he said weakly. Elladan's hand went to his breast and covered the tearing pain assailing him there, a choking groan competing with the howling wind for dominance, and Ossë laughed.

"No, you will never hear his voice again." He crouched down to peer into the contorted visage of agony and sorrow. "Try as you might, I will not permit you to cross and he has no wish to come here to see you. He just wants you to go away."

What began then was a fruitless contest that Elladan could not win yet neither could he fail to try. Time and again he waded into the punishing waves intent upon swimming the distance if he must or die trying. He would run, dodge, dive for the water only to be fished out and hauled back to land, Ossë cursing and defaming him, berating him with demeaning insults and cruel reminders of how inadequate he was for such an elf as Maglor. Over and over Maia let him get just beyond the rocks and then went for him, pulling him from the ocean and tossing him back on the beach. Alternately, Elladan would attack him in furious outrage and, his opponent being far more powerful and impervious to exhaustion, was pummelled ruthlessly. After such a beating he would lie gasping and moaning on the shore, calling for Maglor, and when he recovered the cycle would begin again. It went on for hours.

At last a breaking point was reached and Elladan's reason snapped, crushed between broken-hearted despair and the futility of ever besting this cruel Maia. Mad with grief, he wanted nothing more now than to force Ossë to kill him and end the horrendous nightmare his life had become. They grappled, Elladan shouting curses and fighting like a wild thing with teeth and nails, drawing blood and the Maia's rage until he was pressed into the sand, Ossë's webbed fingers curled around his throat, squeezing and squeezing, enraged and spouting epithets and damnation upon him, denying him Mandos and claiming Elladan's soul as his own to imprison until the last days, locked beneath the waves, never to see the sky or smell the forest he so loved.

Elladan barely acknowledged any of it, his hearing damped by a loud roaring he recognised as his heart pushing blood through his body at a furious pace, a last-ditch effort to ward off death until more air could be brought in. He felt cold and didn't care, content that he would not have to live with this unbearable sorrow, glad that he would be spared the pain of facing his family and explaining what he'd done, the shame he'd brought to them. How had it turned out this way when his heart was true and the goal he'd meant to support so noble? It made no sense and he couldn't reason it out. He was losing consciousness and wanted to thank the vile sea-demon but strangely found he couldn't speak. The last thing he heard was the distinctive ringing crescendo of a steel blade leaving its sheath and a voice he knew well.

"Take your squalid, squamous hands off him or I'll run you through."

The point of the sword ran convincingly along Ossë's spine, cleaving his elegant robes and drawing a bright line of scarlet from nape to lumbar. He leaped from his prey and slowly turned, eyes upon the shining sabre borne in a hand he knew, focusing on the ornate jade ring, carved with the seal and crest of Feänor, fitted round the fourth finger, a match to the one Maglor wore in the same manner.

"You know I am impervious to death, Erestor." he said, lifting his eyes to the searing glare of the last of the FeÃ¤norian princes.

"Yet you are not impervious to pain," sneered the incensed elven Lord. "Get you gone. Bother him again and I'll have Uinan boil you for a time in the hot vents out near the buried pits of Udûn."

Ossë's face darkened and for a moment it seemed he would challenge this insolent threat, yet he had known Erestor long enough to know he could do as he said, and that Uinan would comply once she learned what he was up to. She would not need any urging to punish her mate severely and while Ossë would never admit it, he did not want her to discover this fall from grace. Indeed, he had gone to great pains to make sure she was too busy rescuing elves from a foundered vessel way to the south, much too far to interfere with his actions. Only she loved him unconditionally and he lived in fear that one day he'd find out she had a limit after all. Ossë waded into the ocean and dived beneath the waves.

The storm stalled just off shore and stewed, brooding in malignant fury.

Of course Erestor and Asmalindë carried Elladan back to the cottage, the seneschal's arrival coincident with her desperate search for aid. Of course they tended Elladan and brought him back from the brink of strangulation. Of course Erestor attempted to understand his young friend's wild raving and frenzied insistence on getting to Himling with all speed. Of course Asmalindë clarified this ranting and both agreed that Elladan was in no condition, mentally or physically, to do any such thing. Of course Erestor sent at once for Elrohir.

Erestor and Asmalindë had no trouble restraining Elladan at first. Gradually, his strength returned and thereafter confining him was a lost cause. Erestor could do nothing but stand vigil, following Elladan to the beach, staying close as he called for Maglor, intervening, gently but firmly, if he tried to swim out to the island or sought to ride for Harlindon. Day by day the attempts lessened until at last Elladan sat long hours in silence staring at the dark smudge of Himling, the formidable towers rising into the sky in their majestic ruin. These quiet interludes were punctuated by bursts of terrible grieving. He tore at his hair and his garments, struck out against Erestor if the seneschal tried stop him, rent the skies with keening and wailing and calling for his mate, snatches of a song intermixed between these macabre activities, a song of love found and a heart broken, of apology and regret and remorse.


	12. Part Twelve - Forgiveness

**Part Twelve - Forgiveness**  
"There is nothing else to tell you. There is neither hope nor faith to succour me. Maglor denies our bond; he cannot forgive my deceit." With these words Elladan closed his account of the recent past and leaned in exhausted silence against his brother's chest, cold, numb, and grateful beyond description for Elrohir's support.

"This is all wrong," Elrohir said in bewilderment. "This cannot be."

Long hours ago he had climbed onto the sofa and gathered his twin close. Now he refused to let go, keeping Elladan wrapped up in his love and protection, desperate to vanquish the agony all these events had inflicted. Never would he have imagined such a fate befalling Elladan and his conscience assailed him, for had he not sent him away, had he not been so careless in the way he'd revealed his betrothal, had he not been so outraged over Elladan's desire for him, then mayhap none of this would have happened.

"Nay, this lies not at your feet, Muindor. Ossë was right. This is my fate. It is here, whether for good or ill, and so it has always been," Elladan denied his twin's self-recriminating thoughts. "Even if you had come with me and counselled against the course I chose, I would have done the same. I love him as you love Echuil'laer and my heart was lost that first night when I heard him singing, so forlorn and so lonely."

"Perhaps." Elrohir sighed, not knowing what to say or do for Elladan.

The storm had blown itself out and the air held a rank, raw oyster smell of stranded seaweed and beached sea-stars. It was twilight again, Elladan having talked through the afternoon and the night and all the following day while the tempest raged. Asmalindë had returned and listened along with Elrohir, filling in that which Elladan could not know, her tears and quiet sobs mingling with the twins'; her sorrow that of a mother's, filled with impotent wrath for her inability to mitigate any of Elladan's distress.

"B'rôna Kâno is a fool," she sniffled, wiping her nose for the hundredth time upon a damp and rumpled handkerchief. "When Jatmâ returns, I will go over myself and tell him so. He will listen to me, "

"Maybe," Elladan lifted his head to smile his thanks, but shook his head, for he did not believe she would succeed.

"What is to be done now? I will not watch you fade, Elladan."

"Help me get to Himling. Go down to Lindon and bring back a boat." He withdrew from Elrohir's embrace and sat forward, bare feet upon the floor, and stretched his arms above him with a groan ere he rose. "I need to hear Maglor say that he rejects me, only then can I accept this. Then we will decide what to do."

"Perhaps we should just go home," Elrohir suggested gently, standing and taking his brother by the arm, for while he was glad to see him upright, Elladan looked anything but well. "Given time, mayhap Maglor will open his heart and welcome you. If we leave now"

"I cannot leave here," Elladan protested. "Himling is my home."

To that Elrohir had no reply, too stunned by the finality of the words to think clearly. He had assumed he and Elladan would always be together, dividing their days between Imladris, Lorien, and Arnor. His new bride altered the dynamic, but he had not believed his status as husband, and ultimately father, would change the pattern so much. The hard truth was that Elrohir had never considered Elladan would find a mate, knowing his brother's choice would not be condoned; a naive assumption, he now realised. He had taken for granted that he would always be first against any claim upon his twin's time and attention, Elladan's counsel and companionship his by right. Another had taken this supremacy from him; someone else was first in Elladan's heart now. Right behind this unsettling revelation broke a strong surge of jealousy and Elrohir found himself wanting to dispel the allure of this Noldorin Prince who had stolen away his best friend, the only person on Arda who truly knew and understood him.

Feeling all this turmoil coursing through his brother, Elladan smiled and grabbed him, hugging him close. "That is exactly how I felt when I learned of your love for Echuil'laer."

"Ai, Elladan, please forgive me," said Elrohir, distraught. "I didn't understand."

"Nay, no more did I. It is new for both of us. Before we had only one another; now we must learn to share." But there was sadness in his words, for Elladan felt it unlikely that Maglor would be making any demands upon him to stay. He exhaled in disconsolate fatigue. "Will you find us a boat and sail with me to Himling?"

"Aye." Elladan squeezed his brother's arm in support, seeing the flash of pain in the sombre grey eyes, thinking he would like to have a word or two with Maglor himself. The minstrel would pay dearly for the harm he'd visited upon Elladan, so much so that he might wish the cave-in had buried him.

"You mustn't blame him," admonished Elladan sharply. "It was not his doing. I am the one who pretended to be someone I am not; I am the one who brought pain to him. Maglor must be lost, succumbed to madness now that he knows Elros never returned to him. He cannot even come forth from the seclusion of the island, so broken are his heart and mind."

"Then why go there? Spare yourself that much, Muindor, for I agree with your earlier statement. Whatever wrong you may have done, you have more than paid for it."

"He has done no wrong." Erestor's voice preceded him into the cottage as he opened the front door and stood there upon the threshold, gazing in tender compassion at his favourite twin. "Elladan, Indorion, set aside any thought of that kind. I have been to Himling and spoken long with my Adar. He does not hold you to account for any of this."

"He doesn't?" Elladan peered at Erestor, owl-eyed and forlorn, for if Maglor was not consumed in sorrow and grief then it could only mean that Ossë was correct. The minstrel simply did not love him and never had.

"Nay, I could never blame you," came the fluid voice he loved so. Maglor pushed in behind his son and filled the open space.

"Maglor?" Elladan gasped aloud and started forward, halting in uncertainty, staring in bewildered confusion at the tall, familiar figure framed in the doorway. "You, here?"

"Aye, I would spe"

His words were interrupted as Elladan closed the remaining distance between them, his hands coming up to softly cup the face before him, his head lifting to tenderly settle mouth to lips in a passionate kiss.

Elrohir's jaw dropped as it had not since he was forty and saw for the first time his brother's maturing body naked and hard and realised that was how he looked, too. His eyes swept over the scene, an ache assailing him that was joy and sorrow and embarrassment all combined, for never had he witnessed Elladan engage in so intimate an act with another. It was as if all of Elladan's heart was in that kiss and to see the Noldorin Prince seize control and kiss him back, clasping him at the arms, crushing their bodies firmly together, was nothing less than shocking. The embrace ended and the minstrel pulled away, carefully but firmly disengaging from Elladan. Elrohir could not see his brother's face but Maglor's eyes were bright and dewy and filled with such an expression of guilt and self-reproach that his heart went cold.

"Elladan," the ancient singer whispered, remorse and regret hollowing his voice. "I did not mean for any of this to happen."

"Yet it has happened. What are you going to do about it?" demanded Elrohir, halfway to his twin's side before Elladan could turn in the singer's arms.

"Nae, Elrohir, don't," he sighed as he went to his brother. _Saes, your anger cannot force his love._

"Niena's Tears," mumbled Maglor, staring from one twin to the other, dizzied as past and present collided. They were so like the Mariner's sons, so like one another. He blinked and then reached out for the door jam as he caught Elrohir's killing glare, swaying a bit, unsteady and unsure as the room wobbled a hazy revolution through his eyes. He shut them and pressed fingers over the lids, a groan escaping his compressed lips. Beside him, Jatmâ secured a hold on his elbow both in support and encouragement. Maglor opened his mouth to answer but was cut off before he could sound a single syllable.

"How can you not love him?" demanded Elrohir, furious and in his anger reverting to a childhood trait, neglecting to recall that only he was privy to Elladan's thoughts this way. He hugged his brother harder. "You don't deserve it but it is yours and you would spurn a heart so true? You had better be mad else I will risk damnation and put an end to you here and now."

"Muindor!" Elladan exclaimed in shock, staring at his brother, seeing the fierce warrior who so easily dispatched the foes of Eriador, Imladris, and Lorien marking his mate among them. "Do not speak those words. He cannot help whom he loves any more than you or I."

"I never said I do not love you," stammered Maglor, frightened eyes travelling over the signs of illness and grief so apparent in his beloved's face and form. What madness, indeed, to remain apart from him at such a time. Right and just was Elrohir's wrath. "Elladan, I " he began and faltered into silence. How could he ask anything of him after all this? Mayhap it was better for him to go, whether to Aman or Imladris, for Maglor knew not if he could heal the injuries he had wrought.

"Tell him!" demanded Jatmâ, giving him a rough shake. "No more of this. Tell him the truth. Has he not earned at least that much from you?"

"Yes, and I"

"What truth?" cried Elladan, tense and fearful. Now that the moment had come he could not bear to hear the words that would seal his doom. Plain as leaves on a tree was the dismay on Maglor's face; this news could not be good.

"I think we should let them talk privately," interrupted Erestor, scowling frown travelling between Elrohir and Jatmâ with equal disfavour. "Our presence hinders them and such matters are of a nature not to be shared. Come, we will go down the the beach for a time."

"No!" the twins shouted together.

"I am not leaving him alone with thatthat minstrel." Elrohir spoke as if the term was the most disgusting epithet known to elf-kind.

"I don't want to hear it!" Elladan's frenzied voice broke and he shook loose from Elrohir before his mind realised the door was blocked by the very elf he wished to escape. He paced to the window and found his brother at his elbow, clutched the sleeve of his tunic, grateful for his presence while mortified to be acting this way.

"Elladan?" Maglor's quiet query was laced with uncertainty and fear. Tentatively he edged into the room. "Is it true, then? Ossë claimed you could not truly love me after what happened in the caves. He saidbut when you kis"

"Ossë!" Elladan fairly shrieked the word and exploded out of Elrohir's arms. "Lies are his skin and deceit his bones! The marrow in them is pure malice and what flows through his veins is not blood but bilious jealousy and sadism! How can you listen to anything he says?"

The elves gaped at him in stunned, incoherent silence, for Elladan was not given to such vehement outbursts of violent temper. He stood before them wild eyed and panting, murder in his ravaged expression. Erestor cleared his throat and approached, laying a hand on his shoulder.

"He has done great harm and wronged you both, but his part is finished and he will hinder you no more. Set aside this anger and heed your husband's words, Elladan," he calmly exhorted. He let Elladan go with a gentle pat and reached for Elrohir, tugging him away. "We need to leave them alone," he instructed tersely when Elrohir balked.

"No, Elladan is not up to it; he has already said so. Let Maglor say what he would before us all, for if his words are fair and just and true then there is no need to shut them away behind doors and walls."

"Nay, it is a fine night and he has been cooped up in the cabin for days," Maglor objected, eyes pleading with his mate to consent. "I would speak with you alone but not because my statements are shameful or hurtful. Yet they are words only for your ears. What say you to a stroll along the shore, Elladan?"

Long Elladan gazed into those compelling eyes he'd come to adore, seeing what he had decided was love and wondering now if that was right or wrong, and if wrong how he could have made so grave an error. Was he so distraught over Elrohir's betrothal, so needy? Maybe anyone's attentions would have been welcomed. The kiss bespoke more, but his abused psyche warned that Maglor had kissed him thus that first night when this farce became reality and he became Elros. Was it only desire? Nay, for he had known that before and this was something else, something that made him more alive than seemed possible. Surely Maglor felt it, too. Yet he wondered, for how could he bind himself to Elladan and still think he was Elros? Would not such a bond reveal his very soul to his husband? Maybe they weren't bound at all, the union false like everything else between them.

He had to know the truth. What good was it to pretend when the sham was uncovered? Maglor knew he was not Elros and nothing could change that, yet knowing this he was here, begging leave to trade words. Mayhap he only meant to speak in person the doom that would crush Elladan's heart, but had he not hinted that love was possible? The kiss, the heat of it lingering, gave credence to that notion and Elladan softly touched his lips, a faint smile unfolding as he did. Gathering his courage, he breathed a heavy sough and sent Elrohir a determined nod.

"The stars will be bright after this storm," he said calmly, meeting Maglor's anxious gaze. "It would comfort me to see Eärendil. I will go with you." As soon as he said it the singer's eyes lit up with inexpressible joy and this inspired a corresponding up-swell in Elladan's heart. Pulse racing, he snatched up the sensation and let it overtake him, breaking out in a wide smile. There was hope. All he need do is apologise, beg forgiveness, plead with his mate for pardon. Maglor would grant it; surely there could be no other reason for the happiness radiating from the minstrel's soul.

"Muindor, are you sure? You have not rested since telling me this tale." Elrohir was not pleased, unwilling to trust the elf who had pushed his brother beyond despair. Worried eyes scanned Elladan's visage, pale and drawn beneath the overprint of giddy excitement. Elladan was clearly giving free rein to his impetuous emotions. Elrohir switched to scrutinise Maglor, all the softness leaving his countenance, the expression as threatening as the glint and glitter of hardened steel. The minstrel sucked in a harsh breath and tensed, eyes wide and wary.

"Ai, Muindor, I am fine, or at least fine enough. Be at peace and wait for me here." Elladan smiled, warm and content to be so loved, and reached into Elrohir's thoughts _I must face this now before my courage dissolves again. He will not harm me._

_He has already done so._

_Have I not explained that it was not his doing but mine? He is here. It is what I wished and I cannot help but hope. Do not begrudge me the chance to make things right. Valar, would you have me broken-hearted or happy?_

"Happy, of course," Elrohir replied aloud, a resigned sigh closing the words. He embraced Elladan and let him go, watching as he approached Maglor and took the hand extended to him. "Call if you have need of me."

"Aye," Elladan smiled. _But do not come looking for me. If our talk goes well, then_ He let a fleeting image of his favourite position scamper through his thoughts and chuckled over Elrohir's suddenly scarlet cheeks.

"Ai, Elladan," Elrohir managed, uncomfortable as he took in the subtle signs of desire both elves displayed. It was going to take some getting used to, seeing them together, knowing what they did with one another.

He followed them out to the porch and with a last warning glare at Maglor relented, watching them amble away hand in hand at a pace easy for Elladan to manage, the crystals on the bonding bands sparkling in the sun. It was not lost on him that they were supporting one another, leaning against one another and bearing each other up as they went. Reluctantly, he had to admit that was as it should be between mated couples. Like his brother, he allowed himself to hope. Erestor came beside him and he peered at the seneschal curiously, noting the strong resemblance to Maglor, amazed to known his old friend and mentor was of such noble and notorious lineage.

"Elo, Erestor, son of Maglor. You don't even like to sing." he scoffed. "My mentor, my childhood tutor a Noldorin Prince, the grandson of Feänor? Will you exert your claim upon the High King's Crown?"

"Enough. Silence your insolent tongue, whelp," growled Erestor darkly, his gaze filled with warning.

"Fine. Sorry." Elrohir shrugged and then glanced at his old friend covertly, serious now. "Were you there?" he asked quietly.

"What are you asking, Elrohir?" Erestor heaved a tremendous sigh and pressed his fingertips over his eyes as though holding them shut would prevent the bloody images from flashing through his memory. "Of course I was there. He is my father. Did I fight beside him? No, and neither did I fight against him. I am not a kin-slayer."

"Forgive me, I did not mean"

"I know what you meant."

  
The sand was warm and loose between his toes, massaging the bare soles of his feet as he walked, and Elladan looked down to find Maglor discalced also. Further inspection revealed the minstrel as simply and comfortably dressed as he. With a rueful smile he shook his head; what a pair they were, both so ill and drained they'd not bothered with proper clothes and shoes. Both o them vain to a fault, surely this was a clear indication of the depth of grief to which their sore hearts had fallen, and that in turn a mark of the magnitude of their love. A swift check of his mate's eyes revealed he was thinking the same thing and they offered each other nervous, uncertain smiles.

"It is a form of proof I would choose to forego," Maglor said. "I prefer the rings." He carried Elladan's hand to his lips, kissing not the skin but the crystal-dusted wedding band round his finger. "The bond is true."

"Yes?" Elladan was beaming and returned the gentle pledge, lips brushing the cool glossy surface. "I felt it must be, yet so much of what lay between us was false."

"Not the important things," Maglor corrected. "What I feel for you has never been false. I could not realise it, so lost was my mind in the past, but though I knew not who you were, my soul recognised you."

"It was the same for me." Elladan's eyes gleamed in triumph and he squeezed the hand within his clasp. "The bond is true." Perhaps the rest, the lies and deceit, could be ignored, laid to rest given this one great truth. Yet even as that thought arose, his conscience demanded a full accounting. Let Maglor hear it all and make his decision again, whether to keep him or send him away. And in the deepest corners of his heart, Elladan needed Maglor's confession, too. He slowed to a stop and raised wounded eyes to his husband's. "Why didn't you come before now? Is it true you banned me from Himling?"

"It is." Maglor hated to speak those words but the time for lies was over. "I believed Ossë. He said you were never committed to more than proving him wrong. He said you claimed you could face your fate and turn from it at will, that it was your pride that was engaged and not your heart. He said that you had played your part and there was no more reason for you to stay. I could not face you and thought it best just to let you go."

"That is not so. I said those things before I knew you. My heart is yours, if you will have it." He gripped the hand in his so tight it was painful yet dared not let go, peering intently into the sombre face regarding him. What was spoken next determined whether he would live or fade. To his utter joy, Maglor smiled and drew him close.

"I will have no other," he said, "and to me you are bound. Nothing can change this. I was witless not to understand it and regret the hurt my rejection caused you. If I could go back and undo my deedsAi! So many things I would change, Elladan, but not our bond."

"I am glad to hear it." Elladan pulled back and stole a quick kiss. "You are here now and that is all that matters." So he hoped but it still hurt. It was clear there was much to be settled between them.

They walked on.

Maglor cast an uneasy glance over his shoulder, feeling Elrohir's glower fairly burning his skin even through his garments. "Ai Valar, I have seen that look before. That is Elrond's son and no mistake. He would be well pleased to stick me with a knife, that one," he said.

"Nay, for my sake and for as long as he lives, Elrohir will see to it no harm comes to you." Elladan smiled and found the minstrel's assessment of his brother curious. "Does he really favour our Adar more than I?"

"Yes and no," Maglor cast his mind back into the childhood days of Elrond and Elros. "Each of you is in a strange way almost an amalgam of the first set of twins. Your brother is, however, most like Elros: protective and bossy and just a little bit more arrogant than he has any right to be, yet" he smirked but then stopped mid sentence, seeing the haunted expression flickering over his beloved's features. It occurred to him that what he'd said might very likely be perceived as a threat. "Ai! Your brother holds no appeal for me. Do not let that thought find a home in your heart. I know Elros never truly loved me and I can see now that in many ways I didn't love him either. Not well, not properly, not as a mate ought to love, not as I love you. I've learned whole new layers of meaning to that word since you arrived in Himling Cove. I have no wish to pursue Elrohir. My heart is content."

"Is it?" Elladan searched his husband's face anxiously and passed his tongue over lips that felt dry and hot. "I pray it remains so after our talk." What he needed to say would test his strength in ways no physical battle ever could. They reached the jetty where first he'd spied Maglor singing into the black and bleary night and he stopped, deeming this a fitting place. He swallowed and dropped his sight to the hand holding his, caressing Maglor's ring with his thumb. "There are things I need to tell you," he said, lifting remorseful eyes to Maglor's.

"Nay, you need not," Maglor shook his head but his denial went unheard as Elladan fell to his knees in the sand. Maglor caught his breath, looking down into soulful eyes girded with grey mettle and shadowed in black dread.

"I lied to you from the very beginning," he said, "though that was not my intent."

"Ai, Elladan please don't," Maglor pleaded, looking away with a grimace for this was not a pleasant sight. He would have moved aside but could not bear to lose the security of their connection, palm to palm.

"That sounds ridiculous, I know, for one chooses either honesty or deceit and I willingly picked the latter."

These words struck Maglor hard and he released a noisy breath, stepping back to study Elladan, bewildered. "Why?" he asked quietly. "Did you know then what I felt for Elros?"

"Ossë took pains to make it clear."

"So you agreed to abet the Maia in his duty, keeping me alive to serve the Silmarili? Ai, that is cold, Elladan." Maglor shuddered and would have broken away but Elladan held fast to his hands and would not permit it.

"No, not for that. I didn't know about the stones; he never said anything about them. What Ossë did was spout a lot of drivel about fate and doom and how I was a powerless wretch who could not master my own destiny. He baited me but none of his speech would have convinced me but for one thing: he put me in your path. Once I saw you, all his jeering words proved true. You were my fate; you are my fate." He paused, taking a moment to record Maglor's engrossed expression, senses taxed to their limits, absorbing every nuance within his words.

"I did not do it for his reasons," he continued, smiling gently, "for I deemed that would hurt you. Yet I could not help myself, for my soul knew yours right away. That hateful creature was correct; I could not turn from any fate that included you, no matter how daunting or dangerous or doomed it might chance to be. I did not expect that. I could never in my wildest fantasies imagine I would love you, though he even foretold that. I was prepared to fear and loathe you. And then you kissed me. Ai, Maglor, there was such love, such passion! I had never known the like before and I wanted more. I wanted it from you."

Maglor could only stare, mesmerised by this profession, spirit lifting with each syllable that fell from Elladan's lips, and he smiled.

"Did you? Valar, I don't understand Ossë's plotting. Why didn't he just tell me? That moment on the beach when I saw you, I did not immediately think you were Elros. I didn't know who you were, just that I somehow knew you, had been waiting for you. I wasn't well; I tried to figure it out. Ossë filled my head with nonsense about Elros coming back. I believed him and began haunting the beach, singing for Elros though it was you who came. It was you. Nae, if only I'd known."

"I tried to tell you; I wanted to tell you."

"Aye, I understand; say no more." Maglor tugged at Elladan's hands, suddenly wanting these painful revelations to stop, but Elladan was not done and ignored him.

"I wanted you to love me, not him, not Elros. He left you, abandoned you and never would I do that, never. Even when I went into the caves and thoughtI thought you were feeding it. Ossë said" Elladan felt his stomach clench in fear, for the next words were sure to wound. "He said you knew and wanted him todeal with me because I would take the Silmaril for my own. I heard you that day when D'râkleft. When I found him, I thought you sent him to his death, and me to mine."

"Ai, Elladan!" Maglor winced and shut his eyes as this statement stung his soul. "I did not, could not, never! Did you really think I could want you dead?" Yet he had no need to hear an answer for it was obvious. Once a kin-slayer, always a kin-slayer. Maglor ground his teeth in frustration. "You believe me a murderer still."

"No, not anymore, but I did. Please forgive me; I didn't understand; I didn't know what to do." Desperate to make him listen Elladan squeezed the fingers in his grasp hard. "You turned from me; I began to think you had learned the truth and despised me for my lies, for pretending to be someone I am not, for trying to steal your love."

"No. I didn't really turn from you, Elladan, I only wanted you to speak the truth, to trust me enough to admit it. When you didn't, Ossë's warnings seemed viable. Why didn't you?"

"I couldn't!" insisted Elladan, heart thudding painfully. "How could I tell you it was all a sham and see the anguish that would cause you, to know I was the one who opened that wound? Nor could I bear to have you hate me; I would rather pretend to be Elros to the end of time than lose you. Please, you must forgive me, you must! It was wrong, I know it, but it was done for love. I cannot lose you, not now, not ever."

Maglor looked upon this elf, so desperate to gain his pardon, so terrified to be rejected, and wondered how it could be so. Did Elladan not perceive that he was the one making the sacrifice in choosing such a course? Could he not comprehend that it was Maglor who must be forgiven? With effort he extricated one of his hands and settled it on the pale cheek turned up to him, studied the dark-smudged eyes pleading with him.

"No, Elladan, you will not lose me," he said, smiling in answer to the relief this inspired, wishing he could collect up the tenderness of the kiss pressed into his palm for some later day when he might need to know he was so well loved as this. There was so much hurt, perhaps too much for them to bear, and he wondered if hearts so battered could ever heal.

This was not like his imagined vision, not in the least. Now that he had his noble warrior so humbled and contrite, it did not fill him with exultation but with disgust. The sight of Elladan debased, wasted and ill with grief, desperate and terrified and pleading for forgiveness sickened him. Slowly he sank to his knees, sad and tired, and wrapped his arms around Elladan's shoulders, drawing him near his heart. They leaned in, each head bent upon the other's shoulder. Soft lips grazed Maglor's neck and his heart skipped.

"Promise." Elladan's words whispered over his skin.

"My word on Erestor's life."

"I am forgiven?"

"Your actions require no forgiveness, beloved."

"But I want it," sighed Elladan. "I need it, Maglor. Say it. Say that you forgive me. Say it and then strip me down and make love to me, to Elladan." He slipped his hand beneath the loose shirt and indulged a lingering caress of the well-formed torso, fingertips providing the image for eyes that were closed in quiet contentment. He found a nipple and rubbed it just because he liked the way it felt, first soft and then rising hard and high.

"I forgive you," Maglor gasped out, stealing a quick kiss, the response so fervent and hot he was breathless even though it ended quickly. "Now you say it."

"Strip me down and fuck me." His hand had travelled lower and sampled the growing hardness in the singer's crotch.

"Valar!" Maglor shivered under the touch, copied it, groping Elladan until he coaxed a moan from the pliant body draped against him. "Not that. Say you forgive me."

"You don't want to join with me?" Elladan lifted his head, worried, and peered into the dark eyes, cupping tender balls crammed against the strained fabric of the pants.

"I do," Maglor groaned, hips bucking to enhance that sensation. Again he imitated Elladan's hands and was rewarded when his thighs shifted wider. Almost without thinking, he claimed lips already parted and waiting for him, loosening the drawstring at the waist of Elladan's pants and deftly reaching in for the erection. He stroked it eagerly.

"Then do, saes," Elladan panted, gazing at the mouth he'd just tasted so sweetly, and now it was he who mimicked his husband's tactics, digging into the trousers and fisting the rigid cock, the very heat of it against his palm tantalising. He matched his pace to Maglor's. "Oh, 'tis good," he added in husky excitement. Aye, they would share this, just as they had in their first days together, and then consummate the bond anew.

"So you cannot forgive me, Elladan? Saes, there must be a way I can win your pardon, for I need it, too," whispered the minstrel, and his manipulation slowed to a halt even as he reached for Elladan's wrist and stopped him. He found bewildered grey eyes upon him, frantic, the expression uncomprehending.

"I don't know what you mean. For what deeds must I forgive you? You have done me no wrong."

"Do you not see it, even now?" Maglor's sight filled with a sort of wondering awe and travelled the pensive face so close to his. "I failed to trust you, beloved. I placed conditions upon you, upon the fullness of my love. I suspected your intentions and grew jealous of something that was a complete invention. You never coveted the Silmaril for you own, but I came to think it so. All could have been rectified had I taken action and told you as soon as I realised you were not Elros. The caves, Maedhros' attack, even D'râk's death, all could have been avoided, prevented."

Their desire flagged under the pressure of these serious words and they remained still, staring into the ugliness laid bare by Maglor's confession. Elladan drew a great lungful and blew it out, reaching out to finger a tendril of ebony hair draped along Maglor's cheek.

"When did you discover the truth?"

"Not long ago. It just suddenly was so obvious and I was so startled by it. I couldn't fathom love like that, to cast aside one's persona in order to secure an eternal bond. Ai, Elladan, it was that morning when I made love to you, the hairbrush clutched in your hand the whole time. It was that brush, the way you held it, left-handed, the way your wrist turned when you drew it through your hair, the way your eyes turned to find me and make sure I was well, happy." His was silenced when Elladan sealed their mouths again, sucking at his tongue hard enough to wring a cry of delight from him. Yet he withdrew, with no small effort, laughing as he had to dodge those hungry lips and met Elladan's shining eyes.

"Am I forgiven, then?"

"You are," Elladan nodded, vision locked on the smiling lips as he lunged for them and caught them, devouring his beloved.

The need for words vanished and the two resumed mutual stimulation, though Maglor desired the sensation of Elladan naked against him and cast away his top, opening Elladan's shirt, shoving it down over his elbows and pressing against the bare chest thus exposed. Tight little nipples dimpled his skin and he buried his nose against Elladan's neck, inhaling his scent and then sucking at the flesh there. Elladan's cock was in his hand and how he relished that, feeling all the small thrusts and wiggles his touch evoked. The grip around his organ was tight, perfectly so, and he growled around the mouthful of skin as he bit softly.

Somehow they communicated the desire to enhance the skin to skin connection and each let go of the other's cock, hands working in concert to bring them together, shaft against shaft, a glorious, unified gasp marking the moment. Each captured the other's penis; two hands formed a single grip; eyes held eyes in avid longing as the quickening pace sped them to orgasm. The moment came and again their mouths joined, tongues languidly entwining as ejaculation anointed them with pungent and vital essence. It was over soon and yet the sensation lingered, warm and consoling, comforting and filled with promise, and they were content to remain thus, sagging against one another in the most luxurious manner, the susurration of the surf the only sound, lulling them into relaxed ease as the stars brightened in the darkening sky.

Maglor combed through Elladan's hair, a small spark of fear assailing him as he thought how near he'd come to losing him. That would be his death, that was inescapable reality, and the fear became terror. What better means to punish him than to take away this great, bright soul that made him whole, that loved him despite all his black and bitter deeds? A worse torment he could not imagine than living on forever, knowing he could never again hold Elladan in his arms, hear his voice, make love to him. He must have made some stricken sound for Elladan pulled back to peer at him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing, only I just realised I am vulnerable, so vulnerable. If anything should happen to you," he swallowed, scanning the dear face, caressing the wan cheek. He longed to take Elladan back to Himling and there remain, hidden in the protection of the Silmarili, for the Powers would do nothing to jeopardise those stones.

"Nothing is going to happen," assured Elladan, kissing him, smiling, finding this too endearing for words.

"You don't know," Maglor shook his head. "They only care about those gems, nothing else. When Elros left, they could have stopped him. Instead they let me languish and suffer, pining for him. Elladan, I wasted four thousand years grieving for a myth."

"Ai!" Elladan could think of no appropriate answer to that. "Not a myth for you did love him."

"Did I? Nay, it only served their purpose to have me believe that. It is just as Ossë said: I kept his memory alive to punish myself. You cannot know how your Adar hates me for what happened to Elros. You cannot know how I have hated myself."

"Enough. Ossë is cruel and Elros made his own decision. Ai! I don't want to talk about Elros anymore." Elladan snuggled back against Maglor's chest and sighed. "Do not darken so bright a song with sadness," he pleaded. "Sing to me, Maglor, sing of us and the great love we share, the important work we do here. If it serves some greater purpose, can we complain? I have you and I will not let you go. Be at peace, for what have I done to anger the Powers or deserve punishment? Any harm that befalls you wounds me a thousand fold. They must let you be happy now for my sake. Rejoice! and sing to me, beloved husband."

Maglor straightened and held Elladan out at arms length, examining as if for the first time the elf he had wed, and so it was. Had he ever seen Elladan before, really perceiving who he was, truly appreciating the magnitude of the gift of such a strong heart? Nay, for when first he'd discovered Elladan, his love had been untried and untested. Now he had faced the worst and still his love held true, even in the face of the horrors in the Crystal Cave. Even believing Maglor the author of such death, he had defended him, ready to die rather than let the truth come out. Was he deserving of such devotion? Nay, and what had he to offer in return? Isolation from his family, his home, ousted from his life as a renowned warrior. He could not ask that; he would not. Swallowing a desperate sob, he snatched Elladan back against his chest, squeezing tight as the idea of letting him go tore him apart.

"Maglor? Valar, what is wrong? What is it?" Astonished and frightened, Elladan pried loose and lifted the bowed head, forcing the singer to meet his gaze. Such sorrow was there that has forgot to breathe and cold dread spread through his bones. "What? Speak, by Elbereth, speak!" He shook his husband hard.

"Elladan!" Maglor gasped out, fighting tears. "You cannot stay here at Himling."

"What madness is this?" Elladan demanded. "Why not? I will not leave."

"But your father, your family, your life in Imladris," he faltered under the irritated and angry glare trained upon him.

"What of them? They do not need me there to hold their hands and see them through every day that dawns. Elrond has Celebrian, Elrohir has Echuil'laer, Arwen has Haldir, occasionally, Erestor has Enerdhil, and Glorfindel has whomever he damn well pleases," he barked. "And Adar keeps the finest horses in Middle-earth. And all of them can ride. There are even roads and Avarin guides to help should my people suddenly forget the way to Lindon and lose the ability to read maps. They can visit me here. We can visit them in Imladris. My life is here, but I can still defend Imladris, with your leave, whenever there is need. What other excuses would you like to raise? Will we now discuss your wife in Aman?"

"Excuses? Nay, she it was just a political marriage, no feelings involved on either part."

"Fine, then there is nothing more to part us."

"I just cannot demand that you give up everything to be with me."

"Have I no say in it? Would you send me away after all this? You would sentence me to Mandos, do you not know? Is your love for me so trifling?"

"Nay, not that! I only" Maglor gripped him hard. "Elladan, I am unused to happiness and wary of joy. Please forgive me; I did not mean to suggest I would want you to go."

"Then don't suggest it, not ever, not even in hysteria or madness. Saes, I can bear no more just now. I need quiet and rest and I need you to make love to me, to renew our bond. If you deny me I think I will go mad."

"I will deny you nothing, nothing. All I have is yours, especially my life and my love. Yet I have more knowledge in these matters, Elladan. It would be better if we wait and"

"You don't want to make love to me?" Elladan stared, crushed and stunned. "Why?"

"Did I say that? You didn't let me finish." Maglor kissed him, smiling gently. "Impetuous, impatient, and irresistible you are. And Itchy."

"What?"

"Making love in the sand. Very irritating to sensitive places and wholly uncomfortable, beloved, trust me in this."

Elladan gaped in silent disbelief a second or two and then laughed, snatching Maglor into a tight embrace. "I defer to your Ages of experience here on the shores of Himling Cove. Sing to me, then, for that is almost as good."

Maglor sang. The words and the music and the song were new. Even his voice was new; fuller, richer, more potent in its vocal range and emotional depth for his spirit was healed, his sickness cured. His skill exceeded even the excellence achieved in Aman before the days of the Silmarili, before the Oath and exile. He sang of all that had happened and though the tale was fraught with pain and sorrow and bitter fate, its theme was triumphant and could not be subdued. He sang of the past and the future, of those he had loved and lost, those he had murdered, those he had spared. He sang in thanks and in praise, in supplication and contrition, in mourning and in joy. He sang of penance and forgiveness, of desire and of sacrifice, of beauty and strength, of purity and purpose. He sang a song that filled all the world, that lifted beyond the heavens and bridged the sundering seas to ring through the misty veils on the shores of Eldamar, a mighty song, a glorious song, a song to last until the end of days. He sang of Elladan.

  


  


###  ~ The End ~ 

#### ELROS

He became an important character so I got to know him. Dates and ages for Elros used in this story are all from Encyclopaedia of Arda and tolkiengateway.net. If I'm wrong I'll just have to live with it:

 **FA 532** Born  
 **FA 538** Captured by Maglor and Maedhros, age 6 years old. Remained with Maglor and Maedhros until the War of Wrath, as far as anyone knows, probably fostered with Círdan and Gil-Galad.  
 **FA 583** The War of Wrath. Elros was 51 at the time, fully mature by Noldorin standards for a whole year. He became Maglor's lover on his coming of age at 50. (in this story)  
 **End of FA at 590** Elros is now 58 and openly living with Maglor, who is near to madness. (in this story)  
 **SA 32** Elros becomes King Tar Minyatur - he is 90 and at this point made his choice to live as a human. It is not specified (that I can discover) exactly when this decision was reached, only that Elrond and Elros learned they had the choice from Eonwë after the War of Wrath. So in all, Maglor and Elros were together just 40 years. (this story)

#### Primitive Elvish Words and Names

All these words were taken from [Ardalambion.](http://folk.uib.no/hnohf/primelv.htm)

Asmalindë (Yellow Bird)  
Barjânô (Protector)  
B'rôna Kâno (Long Enduring Herald)  
D'râk (Wolf)  
Jatmâ (Bridge)  
Ohtatyaro Nessa ~Quenya~ (Young Warrior)  
Phaja Narwâ (Fire Spirit)  
Rôda Maril ~mixed PE and Quenya~ (Crystal Cave)

Graphics of the crests of Feänor, Eärendil, and the Silmaril found on [forodrim.org](http://www.forodrim.org/gobennas/heraldry/heraldry.htm)

#### Note

There's an Epilogue so that we can find out what becomes of Ossë, and learn a little about how the rest of the family copes with Elladan's fate. I am very grateful to dapper, ebbingnight, naledi, scarlet1061, starbreeze, and stef who have given me kind and supportive feedback on this story. I hope it is readable and this conclusion acceptable.


	13. Epilogue

**Epilogue - Part One: Thranduil**   
_September 25, 3021, Third Age._

The sky was magnificent, a pale water-washed, powdery blue hued sky devoid of clouds, unmarred by haze or fog all the way to its touch-point with the faint, grey horizon, blending earth and air uncountable leagues away. It stretched in clear, unending purity, an expanse of space so high and wide it dominated the landscape even here where the restless sea filled the eyes and ears. Ever changing, it both mirrored and provoked the moods of the ocean, the two realms working in concert whether storms or fair days were generated. Today the sky ordained serenity and peace and quiet upon the deeps.

Unlike the firmament in any other place, the skies over Lindon imparted sweet remembrance and kindled a spark of nostalgic longing for days past, for the falas would always be home as only the place of one's childhood years could be. Elrond frowned. Here the heavens were unique and superlative, but their pristine beauty filled him with aching emptiness for into their azure expanse had fled Elwing with her Silmaril, that easier to bear away than the twin sons abandoned to heartless fate. How he hated them: this sandy shore and its endless ocean, this perfect sky, those vile stones. Had he not sworn never to come here again?

_Aye, and how many times have I broken that promise?_

Yet there were only four occurrences after all: once upon Elros' summons from Numenor, again after the Last Alliance when Gil-galad was lost, the worst of all when Celebrian sailed, and finally to combat the doom called down upon Elladan. For the most part he'd managed to avoid Lindon, sending Erestor to represent Imladris when Círdan demanded it.

_And now it is my turn to go. Fitting that it should end here where all of it began._

He lifted his face to the heavens and wondered what he would say to his mother when he got to Aman. Would she even be there to greet him? Would his father? Had Gil-galad come forth from Mandos? Of all the many elves living in Valinor, Elrond could truly count on but one, for surely Celebrian would be there, watching and waiting for his ship. The breeze that touched his cheeks seemed to confirm this. But he would not sail today, not yet. He was not ready though such a sky, lit as it was with the warm light of dawn, was a good omen and promised fair weather. The ocean, too, presented a benign and favourable mood, coaxed by the caress of the softest of westerly winds into the gentlest ripples a rolling sea could generate. How could he trust them, this sky and this sea, these elements of the Valar that had stolen away so many he had loved and loved still? No, he would not sail today.

Elrond sighed, turning his gaze from the sky and the sea to view the cramped, over-built streets of Lindon. The city was much diminished in population now, almost the way he recalled it in his earliest memories, for Lindon and he had grown up together. Most of the Faladhrim had gone, taking most of the suffering with them, having fled when news of Sauron's Ring reached the seaside port. With every tide more departed, the Noldorin elves all but gone, the Sindarin folk vanished. Even some of the Avari were leaving. It was strange to see the place so still and quiet. As he watched, a tradesman leading a horse and cart came down the broad boulevard of Círdan's palace, little bells strung across the sides of the vehicle tinkling merrily, and every now and again the ellon sang out the value of his wares, hoping for a customer to appear. He was selling shellfish and crabs and shrimp but no one seemed to want the bounty of the sea this morn.

It would be a dazzling day, the sun bold and bright despite the turn of the seasons that had just occurred, Arien flaunting her power and giving the world a last taste of summer's glory before bending to the will of the Valar, retreating from Arda and permitting the winter months to come. He shivered, though cold was not a sensation he knew well. Indeed, long centuries had it been since he had known winter for Vilya kept the bitter elements in check. Or had done until now. He held out his hand and studied the Ring, worn there so long he could not imagine his fingers without it. He was not planning to keep it any longer though this thought he had kept locked in his heart, secret from everyone. Not even Galadriel could get at it, this idea of his, and he smiled, thinking that.

He moved across the elegant terrace of Círdan's mansion to its bounds, gripping the wrought iron rail that rimmed it, and stared across the endless expanse of the billowing sea. The waters heaved and riffled, undulating in jade green dimples that built into curling waves that raced for shore, toppling in a noisy, complaining crescendo of white froth onto the sand. He had always loved the sound of the surf and missed that constant reminder of his Adar more than anything else. Truth be known, that was the only thing he could recall of his father, the sight of him shoving a longboat into the waves, leaping into it and turning to wave before rowing away to the fair ship anchored in the bay. Even after Ages of time, he sometimes woke from reverie with the sonorous surge filling his ears and the scent of salt in his nostrils. That the tug and tumble of the rumbling tide was the only aspect of the coastal realm for which he pined was a sad, forlorn testament to the strife plaguing even the earliest days of his life. Usually, such an experience brought Elros to mind, yet of late it was Elladan he encountered in those infrequent mirages.

_Elladan_

Elrond's grip on the rail tightened. It was so hard to think of him, so hard not to. He was about to turn away from the view when movement down below caught his notice. An elf exited the lower courtyard to stroll along the beach, long mane of yellow hair dancing in the wind and all but obscuring his features, yet the Lord of Imladris had no trouble identifying that this was Legolas, the woodland archer he'd chosen for the Fellowship. He was here to see his eldest brother off to Aman, an unwise idea, considered the famed healer, for sea-longing had Legolas securely in its relentless grip and threatened to rend his very soul, for he refused to go to Eldamar.

Elrond cast his eyes over him, finding it hurt his soul to look upon Legolas thus, lacking his ever-present bow and quiver, dressed neither for travel nor for formal gatherings, barefoot, hair flying free, all his normal expressions, those masks he donned for the mood of the moment, guises of cool courtesy, polite interest, stern yet respectful dissent, or inscrutable menace, all of that discarded. He was raw, naked agony, bested and bewildered by this unknown foe he could not combat, as lost an elf as any Elrond had ever witnessed staring at the sea.

For all that it was a sight to stir his compassion and inspire empathy, Elrond could not suppress a small note of resentment from colouring his view of Thranduil's youngest son. But for him, mayhap none of the rest would ever have come to pass, and yet the Wood Elf had absolutely no concept of the part he'd played.

It was the conflict in Greenwood that year, the year 425 of the Third Age, that changed everything. Had anyone told him a minor uprising in the blighted forest could so affect the course of his life, Elrond would have laughed outright. Yet the disturbance was serious and verged on civil war as the sylvan folk rebelled and made an effort to overthrow their King and expel Thranduil along with his Sindarin subjects. It had not come to violence yet when the Elven King begged Imladris for help. Of course the Lord of the Vale sent Erestor, the very best, the wisest and most trusted councillor in elvendom, which meant he would not be able to attend Círdan's Council. With his kinsman's spot open and contention between his sons escalating, Elrond had the bright idea of letting Elladan replace Erestor.

_Had I but thought on it a little longer, surely I would have foreseen the possibilities and prevented their realisation. Too late now for such wishes and might-have-beens._

As for the seneschal, he had done his duty well despite his internal concerns over the chosen substitute. The Woodland Realm was returned to harmony, a new sylvan wife at Thranduil's side cementing the unity of the two races. Even so it had not been easy for either of them,Thranduil having no wish for a second wife to replace the one he loved and lost; the Nandorin lady finding no honour in the loveless marriage bed. Endure it she was compelled to do for a child sprung from both lineages was required to seal the accord forever more.

Efforts to fulfil that mandate failed many times over, the babes miscarried early or stillborn at term, and the new queen weakened with grief at each loss. Elrond had gone once himself, her health so frail no other could aid her. He decided she was the bravest elf he had ever encountered and secretly used Vilya to heal her; secretly for her people would never condone it, fearing the power of the Ring of Air. Yet he was determined she would live, eager to see a child born of such sturdy bloodlines. Recovery was slow but Thranduil showed himself gallant, strong of heart, and compassionate in his efforts to assuage the Lady's pain. He nurtured her as he would a true mate and she responded, as did her people. The silvan folk came to love their King as they had never done his Adar. Even so, nearly two thousand years fled into obscurity before an elfling was at last born, the only product of the union for the sylvan queen died in delivery. He was not the King's heir, an elder son by the first wife held that title, but he became his father's favourite and Greenwood's very glue.

_There stands the result of that union, mesmerised by the sea, torn by his promise to Estel._

Elrond frowned and breathed a disconsolate sigh. No, it was nothing to do with Legolas, this unholy mess in which Elladan was enmeshed. In his heart of hearts he believed himself the principal culprit for all that transpired, for he had refused to confront his anger and aguish over Elladan's nature; refused to revisit his ambivalence toward Elros; denied his fury over Maglor's betrayal. He could have sent Enerdhil alone to Lindon and counselled Elladan openly. Yet perhaps that was arrogance, for who was he to believe he could manipulate events? Like all the others, he was only a dupe, a cat's paw. None could divine the dealings of the Powers. An elf was required to join the Fellowship and so Legolas must be born. Maglor was fated to restore the Silmarili and so he must be saved. Elladan was doomed to salvage him and so must be sacrificed. All of them were linked by the history created that year, though none of them knew it.

"He will not go over sea and he will not come home to me."

The voice was unexpected and Elrond whirled around to find Thranduil at his shoulder, that gift for sneaking so legendary among Wood Elves having served to hide his approach. The monarch acknowledged the minor coup with a faint and sheepish bow of his head, yet kept his haunted and sorrowful eyes on the Elven Lord. Elrond readied himself for the expected tirade, for surely Thranduil must fault him for his son's suffering. Had Elrond not sent Legolas on this quest? But for that the archer might never have encountered the sea. No voluble, accusing words arose from Thranduil's misery, however, and the distraught father instead looked near to tears.

"Can you help him?"

Elrond was stunned and ashamed at the same time, but there was nothing he could do in such a case. "No," he said simply, gently, contritely. "There is only one remedy and he refuses it."

"Aye," the King nodded, his mouth set and grim, eyes sharp with grief and yet mellow with love where they rested on the still, silent figure poised upon the strand.

"You will stay?" asked Elrond, curious, for he knew already that Celeborn chose to remain also. This desire of the Sindarin Kings (for so he considered Celeborn) to remedy all the ills afflicting Lorien and Greenwood before they left was incomprehensible. The world was for Men now and it was doubtful they would hold the same appreciation for the life of green things. Thranduil and Celeborn were saving the trees only to turn them over to those who would ultimately destroy them.

"Yes, at least until he sails. I hope to be some comfort to him, though he insists on colonising Ithilien. He will be so far from me, from his forest."

"But near to Estel and I think he needs that proximity to make this vow possible. I am sorry he spoke it. He was too young; I should not have sent him." Elrond found himself apologising and saw the surprise this wrought on the Elven King's features. He smiled, then, and reached for Thranduil, settling a hand firmly on his shoulder. "Mellon vrûn, will you do a kindness for me?"

"A kindness? Aye, you need but name it, Elrond." Thranduil was flustered and awkwardly set his hand upon the Elven Lord's shoulder in turn, his smile anxious but open.

"Invite my son and his mate to the forest for Summer Solstice next year," Elrond pleaded. "That place, that island, those stones. It is dreary and they are lonely. Lindon will be all but deserted by then; Lorien emptied, Imladris much diminished. I would have them know fellowship among their own for as long as possible. Once you and Celeborn leave"

Elrond let the thought hang, finding he had no wish to speak the words aloud. No one knew how long it would be before the Last Battle and the remaking of Arda commenced. Elladan and Maglor might have to wait and watch a very long time, alone, the last of their kind in all the world. He shivered again and would have withdrawn but Thranduil switched his hold, covering the hand upon his shoulder and gripping tight. Again Elrond braced for a virulent outburst, for what he asked was no light task, given the gruesome history which linked the Teleri and the Noldor.

"You cannot speak his name, even now," murmured Thranduil in quiet sympathy, a light shake of the head underscoring his remark. "I am not my father, intractable and unforgiving. Maglor and Elladan are welcome in my home; I would be pleased to host them in Greenwood for the Solstice." Seeing the open surprise on Elrond's face, he had to chuckle and gave the mighty Lord's shoulder a consoling slap. "All right, mayhap I am like my father, but even Oropher set aside his objections and joined the cause of Gil-galad at Morranon."

"Aye, a noble sacrifice and one never to be forgotten," smiled Elrond, his gratitude filling his heart so high that tears squeezed perilously close to escaping. "I thank you, mellon."

"You are most welcome. Yet I believed Elrohir and Echuil'laer would remain, abiding at Imladris. Has this changed?"

"It has not changed." Elrond's voice fell to a hoarse whisper. "I know not how to tell Celebrian when I reach her. She will blame me for it. All three of her children left behind. Ai! No mother should have to endure that, especially after all she has already borne."

"Nay, she should not, yet it is not your doing. Not even Lord Elrond can turn aside the will of Eru. She will grieve but you will be there to help her, and there are many grandchildren and great-grandchildren sailing over with you, yes?" Thranduil offered this encouragement, realising how inadequate it was, yet there was nothing more to say. Grief was their lot, the two of them witnessing the pain their loved ones suffered, unable to do anything about it.

"Aye, many indeed," Elrond smiled, grateful for that, and turned back to gaze upon the solitary archer, who had started to sing.The sound was beautiful but the words and the tune were filled with edgy disharmony. He was about to suggest they go down and bring him away from the beach when another figure entered their field of view.

He was an elven warrior, tall and broad with hair the colour of copper worn loose save for a thin mithril band about his brow. He was not dressed for war now but instead his garb was more that of a Lord bound for a hunt with horses and hounds, practical yet elegant and becoming. He approached and joined the song, or rather he sang over it, his voice full and melodic, the lyrics bright and somewhat risqué. He startled Legolas, something that should have been impossible, who fell silent and watched with mouth agape as the warrior cavorted around him in a silly, skipping sort of step.

"Gilfaen, what is this nonsense?" Legolas' voice drifted up to the unseen watchers.

"I am here to take you riding. Arod awaits."

"I have no wish to go forth. My heart is heavy and only."

"Yes you do," Gilfaen cut him off. "You just haven't realised it yet. Come along."

"Stop this. Your intentions are quite transparent. I prefer someone older, Gilfaen."

"I am younger than you by just twenty-five years."

"Exactly. Too young."

"I will take you riding and prove you wrong."

"How is going riding with you going to do that?" A short pause ensued and then Legolas gave forth a forced and awkward laugh. "Oh. That kind of riding."

"Clever archer, I knew you'd figure things out, though you are so youthful and innocent. Come along." Gilfaen took hold of Legolas' arm and threaded it through his, securing the connection with his other hand, and tugged the Wood Elf into step.

But for a last hesitant backward glance at the surging tide, Legolas permitted himself to be escorted down the strand a pace or two. His compliance was rewarded with a kiss to the cheek and a cheeky smile when he glared at his abductor.

"I am not so young, twenty-five years older than you, remember."

"I apologise, peniaur (ancient one). No doubt you are not so innocent, either." Silence met this rejoinder and if a person could project flustered embarrassment Legolas was a beacon blazing with that emotion, the air suffused with his discomfort so that even Elrond and Thranduil could sense it. "So you _are_ untouched!"

"What if I am?" Legolas balked and shook free, confronting his unexpected suitor, face flushed and eyes very bright. "I am waiting for the right person. How can that be you? I don't even know you."

"Of course you know me, Legolas. I am Gilfaen, the one who loves you, the one who will never leave your side. I am your mate." Serious now, his tone was soft and gentle. A tremor ran over the Wood Elf and abruptly Gilfaen whisked off his cloak and threw it over Legolas' shoulders, clasping it shut, gathering up the errant strands of the wild, golden mane and tucking them behind the sylvan's long-tipped ears. "Better?" he asked and drew Legolas close, kissing him properly. His efforts were not rejected. Instead, he was kissed back with sudden vehemence and came away smiling. In the safety of this loose embrace, they regarded one another until at last Legolas sighed, dropping his gaze, head turning again to the sea.

"It will not get any better," he said. "Most likely, it will only get worse. You deserve"

"Nothing," Gilfaen interrupted him. "Love is neither a right nor a guarantee nor a reward to be earned. It is a gift, the very greatest, most exalted of gifts. Should I be so fortunate as to receive it from you, ever would I cherish it, fully and fervently, and return it a thousand fold. Not even the sea can tear this love from my heart, Legolas, or from yours, should you choose to accept it."

"Ai, Gilfaen." Legolas' attention focused on the warrior, the ocean forgotten.

"Was that a yes?" the ellon said, his cheeky insolence returned though beneath the coquettish query eager intensity made itself known.

There was a long pause before any answer came, a pause in which Legolas studied the elf before him. Deadly hands tentatively tested the resilience of broad shoulders and felt for the racing pulse beneath the warrior's breast. Vision went wandering within the ardent fire of Gilfaen's cool, green eyes and Legolas' soul followed right along. He inched closer and tasted Gilfaen again, inhaled his scent, nuzzled his coppery hair. At last a faint smile overprinted the lines of tension and turmoil drawn by the sea.

"Yes," he said.

"Good! Let us be going then." Gilfaen's grin was exuberant and his aura expanded in brilliant radiance until it rivalled the sun and engulfed Legolas. He secured his love's arm anew and this time there was no delay in their departure.

"That sounded permanent to me. One of yours, I believe?" Thranduil asked, his words replete with both mirth and relief. "He spotted Legolas at the coronation and has hardly left his side since."

"One of Elrohir's grandchildren so, yes, one of mine, too," admitted Elrond, rejoicing in the King's gladness. "You have no objections?"

"Nay," Thranduil shrugged. "Gilfaen is a fitting companion for Legolas. He is merry of temperament, strong and fit, loves all of nature, and he is an elf."

"As opposed to being, say, a dwarf?" smirked Elrond, folding his arms over his chest and surveying Thranduil closely. "You didn't really think your son would take Gimli for his lover?"

"How should I know?" Thranduil complained. "They are very close and Legolas has been through a lot. Anything is possible."

"So Gilfaen may have a rival? I should warn him not to escort Legolas unarmed. I hear the dwarf never leaves his axe behind."

"Bah! I was but jesting. Gimli is the one who showed me the possibility inherent in Gilfaen's interest and so we both have been encouraging him. He will be a great comfort to Legolas." Thranduil paused and gauged the Elven Lord's mood. "What of you? Do you find the match objectionable?"

"Ah." Elrond nodded, not surprised to hear this concern. "I see my flaws are well known abroad, even those I have worked so diligently to correct. Nay, Thranduil, I have no objections. First, I have had ample years to overcome that sort of disapproval. I no longer deem a same-sex bond abhorrent. Second, I cannot control Gilfaen anymore than I can Elrohir. He must do as his heart tells him. Third, and most important, Legolas is a worthy elf, deserving of love as much as any other or Eru's children, and someone I will be glad to count among my kin-by-law."

"Well said," approved Thranduil, smiling. "Now I beg you will excuse me. I must find my eldest and see how he fares. His loss consumes him and I do not like him to be alone." At Elrond's nod he turned to go, pausing as he reached the doors. "Do not stay out here brooding too long, mellon vrûn."

Elrond turned and arched a brow in censure but he was smiling nonetheless, glad there were no misgivings between them. He retreated from the rail and took a seat amid the many comfortable lounges scattered about the deck, settling in and wondering if he really was brooding. There was much to consider and sort out in his thoughts. Was that wrong? He needed to know there was nothing left undone, nothing he should have seen to that he'd let slip at the last moment. Besides, he needed to be content and at peace with it all before he left these shores. With a sigh he closed his eyes and cast his mind back more than 2,500 years.

  
  


  
**Epilogue - Part Two: Echuil'laer**  
Imladris, Year 425 of the Third Age

"I'm going with you."

Echuil'laer stood before Elrond, expression implacable, mouth set in stubborn defiance, eyes bright with fear and courage, heart aggrieved with imagined horrors yet resolute with hope. She was already dressed for the road wearing the most durable garb she owned: a suede leather travelling habit, hooded cloak, and high sturdy boots. At her waist was belted a long hunting knife and if it looked incongruous on her slight and elegant form, such deceptions were not the sort to which Lord Elrond would pay heed. There was more to the Lady than Elrohir perhaps realised and in spite of himself the harried father smiled.

"I welcome the company, though I warn you, Elrohir has most likely set us a false trail. We may be several days unravelling his true direction." Elrond cautioned his future law-daughter, thinking what a remarkable addition she was to his family and sharing that in a glance with Celebrian.

"I expect so, yet Elrohir is more predictable than he would like to believe," she answered, "at least, to me."

Elrond did not doubt that a bit. Raised in Lothlorien, Elrohir's Sindarin bride was a superb tracker. He bent to his wife and shared a quick embrace, entrusting to her the note Echuil'laer had only minutes before brought to them.

Addressed to her, the frantic messenger carrying it had been agog with wonder to find himself in Imladris facing so fair a being, and chagrined to be the bearer of what must surely be ill news. In histrionic tones and exaggerated gestures he relayed the tale of Elrohir's ride from the Rhudaur Gate. Echuil'laer had thanked him, paid him, dressed, packed, and ordered her horse saddled and provisioned for the chase. Only then did she present herself and Elrohir's ominous missive to the Lord and Lady of the Valley. No discussion had been needed for the three of them to concur that the reason for Elrohir's precipitate behaviour could only be his brother.

Waiting for Elrond to make ready caused Echuil'laer more impatience than she liked to feel and she found herself pacing in front of Celebrian.

"Do not fault Elrohir too much; the bond with Elladan is not something from which he could turn," said Celebrian, watching her law-daughter's agitated motion. "I am certain he lost every thought except to find him."

"Aye," Echuil'laer smiled in bittersweet agreement. "I tried to make him mend things, fearing some ill fate would befall Elladan. Elrohir did not believe me. He was so very angry." There she stopped, knowing the official stance of the Lord and Lady regarding Elladan's particular disposition yet wondering what the fair daughter of Galadriel really thought.

"I never met Elros," said Celebrian softly, shrewd eyes gauging her son's beloved, "but Elrond tells me he and Elladan share many qualities of character in kind. Elros and my husband had a similar falling out."

"And did they heal that breach, my Lady?"

"They did, though it was long centuries of time before either one would bend. Elros - Tar Minyatur finally sent for Elrond. The reunion was not without pain yet joy overwhelmed the sorrow. My husband still regrets not acting sooner, for to see his twin so changed, faded and marked by his mortality, already a great-grandfather many times over, was hard. It haunts him still. All this happened long before I met him and Elrond faced that tragedy alone. I am thus grateful for the summons that called my son from your side, dreadful though the deeds preceding it must be, for Elrohir has you to support him through the grief he will suffer."

"That is what you believe? That Elladan has chosen Elros' fate, notwithstanding the report we had to the contrary?"

"Nay, I know Elladan remains among the First-born. It is to Elros' other doom I allude."

They shared a strained moment of understanding, Celebrian veneering her obvious shame with the pride of her lineage and the might of her position, yet the ugly wound of a mother's betrayed heart pulsed with the pain her son's nature inflicted. Echuil'laer had her answer and found her own heart overwhelmed with sympathy for Elladan. She had no words she wished to say to her mate's naneth, desiring peace rather than conflict at such a time, yet censure was in her eyes and Celebrian could not fail to perceive it. The noble Lady declined to react beyond a swift flush of crimson that advanced and retreated across her pale cheeks and the two exchanged nothing more than meaningless, reassuring small talk thereafter, promising each other the emergency could not be too serious else Elrohir would have taken his warriors with him.

Elrond caught the tail end of that as he strode into the study, noted the antipathy between them, favoured each with wary scrutiny, and wisely decided to stay out of it. The idea occurred to him that two Ladies from the fabled land of Lorien, raised amid the golden glow of the region's potent magic, might both be imbued with a variety of insight and wisdom that was more than one ellon could contend with alone and hope to prevail. He chose to respond to the larger conflict and agreed with the hopeful falsehood, deciding to enlist Gildor Inglorion's aid only. All three knew the real reason for this was to spare the family from gossip sure to arise should the rank and file observe the events about to unfold. Elrond escorted his nascent law-daughter out, collected his worthy Master-at-Arms, and the trio crossed the ford less than an hour later, yet already three days had passed since the letter was penned.

Just west of Rhudaur, Echuil'laer's keen eyes spied Nirmë's tracks where they suddenly diverged from the main road, heading off toward Carn Dûm. Now the three hunters were divided, Echuil'laer insisting they continue on to Annuminas, Elrond and Gildor convinced Elladan had lied about going there and instead had gone orc hunting alone.

"It is Elladan's way," posited Gildor. "When troubled he turns to the sword to work out his distress. 'A solution that serves many' he likes to say. He has run into difficulty near the old dwarven fortress, a known haven for evil."

"No, he would not enlist King Arantar's aid and bid him lie if that were true," insisted Echuil'laer. "If he meant to spend his turmoil in killing he would have taken his warriors and sent word to that effect. The subterfuge points to something unexpected, something serious and secret. Go to Carn Dûm if you will; I will go to Annúminas and extract the truth from Arantar." She would not be budged and in the end Elrond agreed to accompany her while Gildor took the northern track.

It had taken Elrohir ten days of hard riding to reach his brother; it would take his father and fiancee twelve. The two had ample time to talk and the subject was frequently the twins. Echuil'laer was treated to numerous anecdotes of the twins' young years and Elrond subtly revealed his regrets for having been so stern on occasion. Gradually the wily Sindarin maid ventured into the painful territory of the brothers' broken bond. Never would Echuil'laer have thought to broach this topic before, yet now it seemed imperative. Every instinct she possessed advised that this was the root of the trouble and she knew from Elrohir how little their Adar liked to discuss anything to do with his own loss so long ago. Yet he must have much he could bring to bear upon the subject, if only she could convince him to open that long sealed door and examine the ancient history locked away behind it. While resting the horses on the fifth day, she bolstered her courage and decided it was now or never.

"You know what this is about?" she asked, settling on the lush turf at Elrond's feet where he sat upon a fallen log. A cool stream wandered by and a copse of woods offered welcome shade.

"The note?" Elrond gazed at her intelligent, thoughtful face and smiled. What use was there to pretend? "Aye. Elladan and Elrohir fought after his announcement of the pending nuptials. Whatever Elladan said made you and Elrohir leave Lothlorien and return home. It must have been serious; I've never seen Elrohir so furious."

"Yes, quite serious," she paused and evaluated the face before her, inscrutable and closed. He must know. "Hîren, I cannot believe you do not guess the cause. Elladan could not face losing Elrohir to another and in jealousy and desperation he sought to secure his brother to him more completely. He has always depended on my beloved, expecting they would remain as they have been for so long: alone but together. Elladan's love for his brother is all-encompassing, Hîren, yet Elrohir did not understand this. He was deeply offended, though only through love was the offer made, frantic and anguished and frightened but love still the same."

"Echuil'laer," Elrond stared at her, his heart aching already from what he knew she was trying to say. "Whatall-encompassing? As in Elladan offered _himself_ to his brother?" The stricken father was on his feet in a flash, not even realising he was striding away, shaking his head in denial. "No."

"You know of this, you must; they are your sons," she insisted, rising and following him. "Can you truly say you never suspected Elladan's needs differ from his brother's? It is your stringent moral code that has hindered Elladan. He thought there was no one else he could trust, no one else who could love him enough to give him what he wants and needs. And he was frightened."

"That is outrageous!" Elrond turned, pointing at her in absolute fury, the facade of calm detachment irrevocably slipped. "How dare you attempt to place blame upon me? I have done all in my power to prevent this, to preserve my sons from this curse. I do not believe it. Did Elrohir tell you this?"

"He did not need to; it wasn't hard to figure out." Echuil'laer endured the angry blast ably, determined to break through and force the elder elf's comprehension. "Elrohir confirmed that his brother preferred males soon after we recognised the love growing between us, yet when I was introduced as Elrohir's betrothed, one look at Elladan's despairing eyes was enough. It is obvious to almost everyone in Imladris and Lothlorien. It is common knowledge and he is both pitied and scorned. Can you imagine how that feels, to be condemned for something so basic to his character? He has been so alone, Hîren, can you not understand? It was bearable, knowing he could never have a mate, as long as he had Elrohir."

"He could have a mate. Many maids are both eligible and willing," argued Elrond, turning from her, face pale and lips curled in a dark scowl. "This conversation is completely inappropriate."

"Nay, it is not. I am part of this family now; Elladan is my brother." Echuil'laer moved to confront him face to face. "I will not stand by and see my new family ripped apart for so trivial a cause. You can end it. Accept Elladan and help him, Hîren. You must let him know you would welcome anyone who holds his heart, no matter their sex."

"Elladan is nothe would never disgrace our House. It cannot be so." Elrond stumbled through these rambling denials, staggered by her bold declaration of fealty and her bolder entreaty. "Valar! Just like Elros in _every_ way!" There was no compassion in his voice, only venom and hurt and sorrow as he clutched at his hair and strode away through the grass. Unbidden, his mind dragged forth a face and form he could not bear to imagine, not of his brother but of the guardian to whom he was once so devoted. It was not something he could examine and a raw shout drove it away.

"Ai! I wondered what prompted your uncompromising views." Echuil'laer nodded, watching the volatile emotions propel the Elven Lord across the stream and into the meadow. She did not follow, certain her next words would draw him as quickly back. "Your brother had the same desire. I could not understand why you scorned same-sex bonding so much that you made it punishable under the laws of your realm. You condemned Elladan to loneliness and frustration and dependence upon his brother."

"What say you? Dependencedid they?" Elrond returned to peer into her perceptive eyes yet could not bring himself to speak the words.

"Nay, you have not been listening well. Elrohir was not aware of how much Elladan had come to regard him as a surrogate mate. He was shocked and disgusted and disowned Elladan on the spot. Can you imagine what that did to Elladan's soul? I feared for him and took Elrohir to task for his harsh reaction but, like you, Elrohir was unwilling to bend at first. By the time I made him see reason, Elladan had already been sent to Lindon."

"And now whatever has happened involves this 'dependence' of Elladan's?" Elrond could only gape at her, wondering over her insight and her courage. Few were the elves who would dare challenge him thus; few were the elves who evinced enough concern for his House to do so and he was not ungrateful for it, no matter how hard it was to hear.

"It involves his heart, surely, for what else would prompt Elrohir to leave without telling you, or anyone else, what has happened or where he is going? I fear Elladan has again offered up his heart and this time it has been broken utterly."

"Broken? Elladan?" Elrond felt his world spinning backwards, the memories he could not bear to acknowledge forcing their way into his awareness.

He'd caught Elros one morning pleasuring himself, flaunting his naked body and the delights it granted him, doing this almost in public right in the main study where their lessons were conducted and certainly within sight and hearing of their kindly keeper turned foster-father, whose private office was next door. Elrond had spied Maglor darting away from the half-open door between the two rooms and immediately upbraided his brother.

_'How can you show yourself to him like this? He is our foster-father!'_

_'And thus not our father, nor more than a distant cousin; there is no wrong in it and he wants me. He is terribly lonely and now that I am almost grown he thinks of me differently. Admit it, you are jealous it is not you he desires.'_

_'I deny it! I've no wish for a male lover nor have you, not really. I have seen you excited over a pretty elleth many times.'_

_'Why must I be exclusive, male or female? There is beauty and merit in both sexes.'_

They argued the point and all the while Elros never ceased playing with himself. Elrond thus accused him of all manner of low, incestuous hungers. That prompted Elros to seduce him, eagerly presenting his arousal for his brother to fondle and savour, offering to do the same and more in return. Shocked before, Elrond was both angry and frightened now, rebuffing his brother severely, to which censure Elros had ready answers.

_'How can this be wrong? Who in all Arda loves me more than you? Who in all this wide world adores you as I do, Muindor?'_

Horrified, Elrond had left the fortress that day and taken up residence with Círdan in Lindon, never to return to Himling.

"Nay! It _cannot_ be!" he ground the words through clenched jaws, verily clawing at his hair in his distress. The vision arose with all the depth and vibrance of reality, the kind of internal picture that generally heralded foresight and prescience, and the naked elf cavorting with Maglor was not his brother. Elrond gave a despairing groan and sank to his knees, eyes shut, hands clapped over them to block the scene, whispering his son's name over and over.

"Lord Elrond? Saes, answer!" Echuil'laer was shaking him and came just short of striking him a resounding blow when the lore-master's eyes returned to the present and met hers, great anguish within them. He scrambled to his feet and gripped her at the biceps, squeezing so hard that she flinched.

"You're saying this is my fault," he hissed and shook her. "I am not the one responsible! I am not the one who tried to lure my brother into a forbidden bond. It was Elros, not I!"

"Hîren, no one is blaming you," the Lady cried and stamped on his foot to cringe him back to reason and make him let go.

He did, flushing scarlet to realise he had laid hands on her in the violence of his misery. "I pray you may forgive me," he said softly, bowing and refusing to meet her gaze.

"Of course I do," she sighed, "as you must forgive your brother. And your son. Neither acted with the hope to hurt you. Can you not see it?"

Elrond had his doubts about his brother's motives, but she could not understand for she had not been there and he saw no reason to scandalise her with such ugly scenes. Yet she was correct regarding Elladan. He had known, always, what desires awoke in Elladan. He and Celebrian had discussed it, she concerned over the ban and whether he could abide by it, he convinced the ban would be the safeguard Elladan required to keep his indecent urges in check. He wanted no repeat of the fate that befell Elros.

"Now I see; it was not what he desired but whom, the person and not merely the person's sex. Yet he has chosen; Enerdhil's report and Arantar's letter of congratulations confirms that," he spoke aloud, forgetting his wandering thoughts had not been vocal. In the bitterness of his heart he cursed Maglor. "First my brother and now my son, what manner of crime darkens our past for this obscene history to repeat?"

"I do not understand you; what has happened to Elladan is not a punishment upon your House," Echuil'laer argued, rubbing her arms where they still stung a bit.

"No? Does it not seem so to you? What other conclusion can one derive from the facts?"

"We do not yet know the facts," she reminded patiently. "Only one truth do we hold for certain. You will not lose him as you did Elros, though he may need to go over sea. Most of all, he will need your love and support. I beg you, set aside these narrow views and ancient hurts, for Elladan's sake."

He stared at her, aghast. Could she really believe such a thing would turn him against his own? "I love my sons, no matter their faults or failings. If I have erred it is through devotion not dispassionate indifference." Elrond stalked back toward the grazing horses, calling for his mount.

Echuil'laer sighed, more than a mite disturbed and confused by her law-father's rambling tirade. She judged he was somehow equating past and present but could not discern the connection. Still, he had at least owned up to the real issue. More than this she did not think possible at the moment, and contented herself that she had started him thinking. Hopefully, by the time they reached Annúminas, Elrond would be prepared for whatever they found.

At Nenuial Arantar gave up the letter he'd saved without resistance, deeming the situation dire for Elrond to come in person. Of Elrohir he had no news but agreed with Lady Echuil'laer that he must have gone straight to Himling Cove. There was no point in suggesting the elves wait and Arantar was not comfortable under his foster-father's baleful gaze. It was plain enough Elrond considered his part in the deception just a hair shy of treason and betrayal. Truly, if ill had befallen his muindor iaur, Arantar would not soon forgive himself. He supplied them with fresh horses and provisions and saw them off, silently praying for Elladan to survive whatever awful doom had ensnared him.

The determined hunters were silent as they left the fair lands of Arnor. Elrond could not prevent his son's written words from ringing though his thoughts. Echuil'laer had seen the truth so quickly and the rueful father could no longer ignore the impact of his severe code upon Elladan. Even more, it was evident Elladan had perceived beyond the false impression of his Adar's ignorance, sensing Elrond's comprehension and condemnation in every stern look and reproving correction. Had he been harder on Elladan, more demanding, less compassionate?

_'At home I am redundant'_

_''fills me with pride to know I can be of such import'_

_'I will not embarrass myself and my parents'_

What kind of father did these words reveal? In shame he owned his failings; all this time, from Elladan's adolescence onward, Elrond had been punishing him in advance for what he might do in future. _Worse, I've punished him for Elros' sins._ Abruptly he reigned back, reaching for Echuil'laer's horse as he did and both halted on the road. He gazed at her with something too much like doom in his eyes for her comfort.

"What is it?" she asked gently, suspecting the effect of the letter.

"I find I owe you a great debt," he said quietly. "If not for your courage to confront my arrogance and denial, my heart might still be closed to Elladan's plight. I thank you, Echuil'laer, and celebrate so worthy an addition to our House."

"You honour me, Hîren," she smiled, pleased to note this breakthrough while worried over his continuing gloom.

"Call me by name," he said, "for now we will speak of what has come to pass and I would have your advise."

"Gladly, HîreElrond." Echuil'laer did as bid, no matter how awkward it felt to address the august legend so informally. She met his melancholy smile with a brighter one of her own in hopes of alleviating his sombre mood. He dismounted and she did likewise, following as he strolled to the rise of the sharp promontory overlooking Imrath Lhûn.

"The letter gave me all I needed to solve this riddle, and the answer is grave, perhaps fatal for my son if we do not get him free and send him over the oceans."

"Nay!"

"Aye, for little hope do I have of ending this nightmare favourably."

"What did the letter say? I cannot believe Arantar would hide from you something so dire," Echuil'laer insisted.

"He does not comprehend what has happened. I perceive it because it involves my family's history. Arantar has never learned this tale, for I held it secret in my heart from all but my wife. What I will tell you now is our greatest shame."

"Ai, Hîr Elrond!"

"You were not told because my sons were not told. Elrohir would not have kept this from you had he any inkling of the truth."

"You frighten me!" she gasped. "Please, say what you must; I can bear the reality better than my imaginings." Really, she knew not what to expect and felt her heart pounding with dread, for never had she seen the mighty lore-master so fatalistic, so hopeless.

"Of the kin-slaying at Sirion you know," he began, turning from her and slowly pacing along the cliff. "After it was done, my brother and were taken hostage by Maedhros and Maglor, Ernil'orn and Lanc Vallen (the Valourous Prince and the Golden Throat)." His words dripped with scorn underlain by dark hatred. "Despite all reason, we came to depend upon them and loved them," he paused and turned sharply to her, a fearsome grin masking his fine features as a harsh bark of laughter erupted from his throat. "Loved them! Can you imagine such a perversion? The very elves who would murder our parents, who had murdered already so many we counted as family, these vile people we came to honour as we would our own Adar."

"You were but children," the fair maid protested. "Children need to be loved and if you found warmth in your hearts for these kin-slayers, then they must have showed compassion and love first."

"Aye," he nodded. "True enough. Maglor and his son were especially kind, their feelings genuine. Maedhros' emotions were guarded and he remained aloof for the most part, stern and demanding as if he could not permit himself to harbour gentle sentiments for the sons of those who had defied his claim upon the gems."

"That is a pity; he denied himself what might have been a saving mercy. Yet this is known to all, Elrond," she said, coming and laying a hand upon his arm, "and reveals nothing of Elladan's plight."

"It does, for while most believe the Feänorionath dead long Ages past, one of them still lives."

"What?"

"Aye, it is Maglor. He it is who has ensnared Elladan's heart; I know it as surely as if that letter proclaimed it in the boldest script possible."

"Nay, I see it not," Echuil'laer disagreed, unwilling to accept this theory. "How can you surmise this end from so few words?"

"Elladan is not in Lindon, is he? Neither is he at Annúminas; indeed, he revealed to Arantar he 'remains in the shadow of Ered Lhuin' and there is nothing there but a small colony of Avarin elves. That and Maedhros' old stronghold on the island of Himling. There my son is and he would only be there for one reason. Somehow Maglor found him and entrapped his heart. Indeed, my memories spawned a prophesy. I saw them together."

"Oh, Hîren!" breathed Echuil'laer, unable to come up with anything at all to counter this explanation, save one thing and to that she eagerly gave voice. "Mayhap it is one among those sylvans who has won your son's heart and not this Noldorin Prince, this Lanc Vallen."

"Nay, I feel no need to foster foolish hopes like that. He was in Maglor's arms; there is no mistaking the Noldorin minstrel. Once you have seen him, you will never be able to forget him either. That is why I have stopped here and taken you into my confidence. What am I to do, Echuil'laer? How can I get him from there without soiling my hands with the blood of that kin-slayer, for dearly do I wish to slit his golden throat and watch Maglor's life drain away."

Elrond spoke so calmly he might have been discussing any common little problem that at times arose amid the citizens of his valley. This more than the brutal imagery of the words distressed Echuil'laer and she paled, seeing now the responsibility cast upon her. The great lord meant for her to convince him of some other course ere they came to the place and confronted the lovers. She drew breath and shook her head, tightening her grip on his wrist.

"Elrond, there is one important truth that will stay your hand, no matter how overpowering your desire for vengeance. If it is so that Elladan loves this ancient menace, you cannot murder him for to do so would drive out the love your elder son holds for you. He would not forgive this. Further, you must ask yourself how it is his heart opened to someone with so dark a history. Elladan is not a child and neither is he naive. There must be some good, some worthy aspect housed in the Noldorin Prince that drew him."

"Alas!" Elrond smiled at her kindly and traced his fingers over her pale cheek, meeting her forthright gaze with sorrow. "It is my own fault, my own harsh and unrelenting bigotry that drove Elladan into Maglor's arms. You said it yourself; my son had all but given up hope of having a soul-mate and departed Imladris in great despair and internal agony, divided even from his twin. He was easy prey for the old seducer!" he finished bitterly, anger rising up as he pulled free and stalked along the cliff, wind whipping his long black hair about him.

"Nay, nay!" Echuil'laer followed. "There is more to Elladan than that. He was grieving, true, but he would not commit his heart without cause."

"Fair Lady," Elrond replied, returning to her and taking her hands in his. "You speak this way because you do not know what Maglor is. I sometimes think there is sorcery woven into his music, so easily doe he capture hearts with it. Long ago, he beguiled my brother and the result was Elros' death."

"Your brother?" Echuil'laer was lost, shaking her head. "He and Maglor were a couple? Then how could Elladan"

"Because the minstrel has no scruples such as govern you and I," seethed Elrond, fiery wrath again dominating his mood. His grip upon her fingers tightened. "A wife he had to mate first. She died defending their child during the kin-slayings and yet she was easily discarded, their son's objections ignored, once Elros came of age. Whatever he did to hurt my brother I know not, for we became estranged and that is my fault. I lost him forever because of my judgement and disgust. Even then, you see, even then I laid the blame upon the victim foremost and could not find the courage to face Maglor and demand he end the illicit affair. Now he has Elladan in the same thrall. How long before he breaks my son utterly?"

"Ai, Elrond, I know not what counsel I can supply," sighed Echuil'laer, truly saddened by this ugly tale. "Yet you are hardened no longer; your eyes and your heart are opened now and you will not make the same mistake again." She paused to consider, freeing her hands and walking the ledge, praying for insight and the words to heal this vile wound in her law-father's family. Long she considered as Elrond patiently waited, silently watching her measure the length of the precipice over and over. At last she halted and came back to him, determination in her clear green eyes as she reached for his hands anew.

"My advise is this," she began, "when we come down to Lindon, go not to Himling for there you are on Maglor's territory, the place where he will feel strongest and most secure. Go instead to Círdan and lay your claim before him, demanding redress against your old foe and former mentor. Call your sons to you there and they will surely come. Then you may see how it is for Elladan and judge how best to act. If you must confront Maglor, let Elladan observe that the minstrel's real nature may be revealed to him. If this breaks his heart, then Elrohir and I will ferry him over sea ourselves, for we will not suffer him to fade."

Elrond felt tears come to his eyes and he pulled his son's chosen one into his arms, pressing her to him tightly in gratitude and relief. "Your words hold wisdom beyond your years and speak of sacrifice beyond all accounting. That you would abandon your family and all you know for my sons! A blessing you are to me, Echuil'laer, and I thank Varda you are here, for never could I get through this trial without such steadfast support and unshakeable loyalty."

"Peace," she soothed, glad her words had cooled his ire, and gently patted his rigid back. "There is yet hope. Your brother you have lost, but your sons remain among our people. You may be parted for a time but no more than that."

Thus it was that Elrond went not to Himling to condemn his surrogate father but to Mithlond and the palace or Nowë Círdan.

  
**Epilogue - Part Three: Elrond**  
Imladris, Year 425 of the Third Age

The room was smaller than he remembered, or perhaps his memory had simply chosen to reconstruct his old suite in more elaborate and luxurious style. True, the furnishings were well crafted but the designs were simple and utilitarian, displaying clean lines and natural surfaces rather than artistry in carving or inlay. This was to his preference, and he smiled, recalling how his wish to make the space distinctly his own was not merely humoured by Círdan but encouraged.

The old Telerin Lord had been deeply pleased when Elrond appeared at his daily audience all those years ago, delighted to have a companion for Gil-galad close in stature yet not so close as to challenge his place as heir. They were of like age, too, there being not quite a hundred years between them. Círdan had been trying to get Eärendil's twins away from the Feänorion Princes since their capture, without success. Elrond's sudden defection, though its cause was never revealed, was greeted with joy.

Hurting from the loss of his twin, Elrond quickly accepted Gil-galad as an elder brother as well as friend and confidante. He smiled, the expression tinged with sorrow, as he recalled his boon companion. None could ever fill his place and if truth be told, Elrond would never pursue the Crown of the High King out of love and respect for Gil-galad.

_Another loss to whether; another wound that will never heal until I reach Valinor._

Elrond sighed heavily. This visit was not about him. He grimaced and shook his head, trying hard to stop from wondering how things might have been different had Círdan been the one to raise him and Elros. It was a fruitless contemplation, for none of it could ever be undone.

The balcony beckoned he could not resist, strolling out to rest his weight upon the filigreed railing, staring out to sea, watching the eternal advance of the waves upon the strand. It felt comfortable to be here, he decided with no small surprise, and the soothing sound of the retreating tide eased the tension from his soul. Movement to his left caught his eye and he turned to find Echuil'laer on the adjacent porch. He smiled, she lifted her hand, and they both returned to the interior. A soft knock alerted him to her presence at the door.

"Enter, iellen 'wain (my new daughter)," he said proudly as she approached.

"You look well. When will you speak with Hîr Círdan?" she asked, smiling over the greeting as she came and kissed his cheek.

"I think now would be best," the voice from the hall was grim and immediately followed by the presence of the ancient lord. "I regret that Tegilion did not bring me your message at once. I was in Council and he knows I am not to be interrupted, yet for family he should have acted at once."

"Nay, no harm is done," assured Elrond, "at least not by this short delay." He bowed to Círdan in respect but was raised at once and enveloped in a crushing embrace.

"Then my troubled dreams have proved visionary," said the elder elf, releasing his favourite between Eärendil's sons. "Alas, I have dreamt of Elros these last thirty days and more. Your arrival confirms my fears: Elladan was not spared."

"Aye," Elrond nodded, fighting tears which sprang up the moment he opened his mouth to speak. "I had hoped somehow you might discredit my conclusions, but there is no longer any doubt. I, too, have had a vision."

"He is not in Annúminas, then," Círdan stated. "Had the notice of his plans come to me from any but yourself I would have given credence to my disturbing nightmares. I would have acted even if it meant going to Himling myself. I believed him," he shook his bearded chin. "Old and experienced as I am in the ways of deceit, even I was fooled. I have already summoned the culprit to answer for his crime."

"Maglor is en route here?" Elrond broke from him, taken aback, not thinking to have to challenge this elf so quickly, but Círdan's face showed surprise.

"Nay, he is nearly as much a victim of this plot as your son. I refer to Ossë, for it was he who designed this subterfuge and enlisted Elladan's aid. It was he who deceived me. For the rest, I cannot say; Maglor has much for which to answer."

With the speaking of his name, the majestic Maia materialised and strolled in from the open balcony, his manner regal and royal and ostentatious as ever yet not quite as menacing as perhaps he was wont to display. Indeed, he bowed to both his ancient friend and the Lord of Imladris, speaking as his silver hair swept the floor.

"Suilad Elrond, Adar od Elladan, Callon o Roda Maril, Barjânô o Silmarili ah Hervenn-en-Maglor Feänorion. (Greetings Elrond, Father of Elladan, the Hero of the Crystal Cave, Protector of the Silmarils, and Husband of Maglor son of Feänor)" He righted himself and met the cold fury of the two elven Lords.

"Pretty titles," spat Elrond, "but meaningless. Do you believe speaking empty flatteries will make your treachery acceptable? Explain your part in my son's downfall!"

"Your son is neither vanquished nor debased, Hîr Elrond. Instead of ruin, he has achieved a stature few in Middle-earth will ever match. Truly earned were those titles I spoke. They have been conferred not by me but by the Powers, and as always I am merely their emissary upon Arda," he countered, features placid with lordly complacence.

"I do not understand," Echuil'laer spoke up, edging closer to Elrond so to take his arm, hoping to arouse his protective instincts and thus prevent him from attacking the Maia, as his fierce glare and combative stance surely portended. "Is Elladan truly this ancient elf's husband? How so if Maglor is already bound to wife and child? And what can it mean, Hero of the Crystal Cave and Protector of the Silmarili? The stones are lost to Middle-earth, surely."

"Fair daughter of the Golden Wood," spoke Ossë, smiling upon her, "he is indeed mated to the great minstrel. As for the wife and child, again I must guide you to seek answers from the Valar. It has pleased them to dissolve the initial bond and bless the new one. More than this I cannot pretend to understand, for the mind and heart of Manwë are far from here, so to better confer with Iluvatar."

"You entrapped him!" yelled Elrond, held back from assaulting the Maia only by Echuil'laer's presence clinging to his arm.

"Elladan? Nay, I did not. It was you sent him here," reminded Ossë cruelly. "I merely introduced the couple, all else that transpired you must take up with Maglor himself, or your son, or the Valar if none of that suffices."

"Nay," Círdan interrupted. "When last we spoke it was agreed, old friend: Elladan was to be spared this trial. You gave to me your word another solution would be sought."

"True," Ossë shrugged, a careless gesture accompanied by a sheepish grin. "I lied about that part, old friend, but only because I was not at liberty to accept your terms. My instructions were quite clear; Maglor must be salvaged and Elladan was sent to me to achieve that purpose." He turned again to Elrond. "I have no personal desire to see your son harmed, Hîr Elrond, but Hîren Ulmo brooks no defiance from me."

"Liar! Fiend!"

Ossë had barely finished before a soul-shredding shout of vengeance and hatred exploded from Elrond's heart and he cast his law-daughter into Círdan's arms. Careless of his own safety, he leapt upon the lesser lord of the seas, bearing him down to the floor.

"Liar! Vile schemer! Apprentice to the Dark Lord! It is Elladan; it is my son to whom you have done this thing! He is not a tool placed in your hands but a person, beloved and cherished by family and friends!" Furiously he pounded Ulmo's acolyte, raining curses and blows upon him with equal fervour. No defence did the benthic Istar make, writhing and groaning under the barrage but permitting every strike. "You will undo it, all that you have done and most especially this mockery of a bond!" Elrond shouted during a pause to catch his breath.

"Ai! Hîren?" wailed Echuil'laer. "This is madness!" She feared to go near and retreated in horror as Elrond set to anew and blood spattered the clean wooden floors.

"Desist, Elrond!" shouted the Teleri Lord and a sudden red flash bathed the room, casting the irate father aside from Ossë. Círdan drew Elrond up from the ground and guided him to the far end of the room, settling him in a chair. There he slumped in boneless stupor, shivering and gasping for air, and the Lord of the Havens regarded his former ward in concern, for the blow had come through his Ring and his high emotion had lent the impact more energy than was healthy. "Speak!" he commanded in dread, taking Elrond by the chin and lifting the lolling head.

"Whatwould you have me say, Hîren?" Elrond managed with no small effort. He reached for the hand that bore Narya, clasping it with the one adorned with Vilya, and another flash filled the room, this time the glow a purely healing charge, and when it faded he was himself again, renewed in both body and spirit. The two mighty lords shared grim smiles and faced the wayward lesser god of the deeps. Ossë, too, was healed and no sign of the conflict showed on his person.

"I hope you are satisfied," he snarled quietly, the light in his pale aqua eyes betraying the depth of his humiliation and shame. Never had elf-kind been permitted to accost him but as in all things, he was bound to accept the will of his betters across the Sundering Seas. Should he afflict the son of the Mariner in any way, he faced banishment into the void. Ossë clenched his webbed hands in impotent fury and remained still.

"Hardly," retorted Elrond. "Until Elladan is released form this vile curse upon his heart and soul, I hold you under the doom of Manw¨, for whatever task with which he charged you, this thing you have done to my son is not what he intended."

"Valar hear me!" roared Ossë in frustration, twisting about and stalking to the balcony, there to raise face and arms skyward, features contorted with confounded ire. "This is what I must bear from Tuor's descendants! Open their eyes and make them see that I am not to blame nor hold power to fulfil such a demand!"

If the Lord of the West was listening, he chose to ignore the outburst and Ossë returned to the study.

"I cannot do it, what you ask," he insisted. "It was never my design that they would bond; this you must believe. All of that happened between them without my intervention and there is nothing I can do." Then he waited, tense and verily radiating both loathing and fear, for he was in fact under doom, but it was not Manwë who would decide his punishment. The right and responsibility to demand redress for wrongs wrought upon his child were ever a father's first and foremost. Ossë had been given to know that his chastisement would arise from Elrond's words.

"I will have the why of it, and do not say again that Maglor must be saved. What does Hîr Ulmo care about that mad kin-slayer?" Elrond demanded, arising and confronting the Istar, and because of the doom placed upon Ossë he had no choice but to answer fully.

Thus was the story of the Silmarili and the last of Feänor's sons revealed, along with the great purpose the stones would someday serve. To this knowledge all were sworn to secrecy, though Círdan had made his vow nearly two Ages ago. It left them all solemn and quiet, pondering the enormity of what was planned, the enormity of the sacrifice demanded of Elladan. Echuil'laer sniffed, trying to control her tears, for it seemed such a heavy tax upon the love he'd found.

"And great must that love be," she whispered. "I can see how it would be the balm that sealed the cracks in the minstrel's sanity. We will stay, too, Elrohir and I, that they may not be alone, the last of our people upon these shores."

"I pray you, do not make such vows," implored Elrond. "Am I to lose both sons and my new daughter also?"

"Not lost, merely separated for a time," Echuil'laer smiled gently. "You do not want him alone here any more than Elrohir would. You cannot do this thing, so leave it to us."

"That is not decided," disagreed Elrond, wondering that her words sounded so much like fate.

"Nor is the doom upon this one," Círdan brought the conversation back to a more immediate point. "I am of the opinion that what you have not told us is why the Powers have made you so suddenly gracious and accommodating."

"Indeed. What has brought me here is a crisis of terrible proportions and of this you have not spoken, though I am convinced you are at the heart of it, as Círdan hinted. Speak your part in this, Ossë Alagos Ceredir (Ossë Storm Maker)."

The will of his betters demanded the Maia's full disclosure and nothing could he hide or gloss with trite referral to obeying orders. All his cruelty and sadistic torments were detailed and the sea god fully expected Elrond to attack him again. In truth, the heart-sick father could not get past the anguish his son had endured and sank wearily into the chair.

"Ai, Elladan," he whispered brokenly and found he no longer had any wish to try and remove his son from Maglor, for the degree to which his heart was bound was evident. Separation would be the death of him, and likely the fate of the minstrel, too. The Lord of Imladris shook his head and heaved a deep breath, lifting his eyes to Círdan. "Your counsel, Pen Idhren." (Wise One)

"He must be punished," the old Telerin Lord barked, glaring in such white fury upon his equally ancient friend of the sea that it was a wonder the Maia did not burst into flame. "We require the aid of Uinan, for only she has the power to contain her husband."

"Nay!" shouted the Maia. "You will not involve her! Already I have been punished enough, for she has left me alone and Hîr Ulmo has restricted my freedom. I am confined here to this shore alone, Círdan, and forbidden to seek my mate, wherever she may be."

"I do not blame her," said Elrond. "You have abused the trust and love she showed you. But for her, would not Ulmo have forced your return to Aman long ago, there to face the judgement of Manwë?" To this he received no answer save an enraged rumble from deep in the Maia's chest.

"I fear his interference in matters here," Círdan. "I would have him removed from the shores of Mithlond and especially Himling. Yet without Uinan, there is no means to know he would adhere to the ban."

"How if he could not move?" asked Elrond, a cunning smile spreading over his features that made Ossë pale. He knew, even if he had not revealed it, whatever the elven Lord spoke he was bound to endure.

"Again, such a task is only accomplished through Uinan, as far as I am able to discern."

"I was thinking that the ice flows of Helcaraxë would hold him bound safely."

"You would not dare!" shrieked Ossë.

"In spirit form do you mean?" queried Círdan, knowing Elrond did not for while that would cause Ossë real distress of mind and heart, yet he would not experience the kind of torment to which he had so readily subjected Elladan.

"I would rather he be bound in physical form as he is now, yet unclothed and without the presence of Uinan to succour him. There let him languish for one coronar and if Uinan judges him fit to welcome as her mate, then no further penalty shall result. If she refuses him still, then let him be removed to the boiling seas near the vents of Údun for yet another year," Elrond spoke his sentence as Ossë stood silent and seething before him. "After that, I consider my son will be avenged and the Maia's doom shall return to the keeping of his betters."

No sooner had he completed this statement than Ossë vanished, his elaborate clothes and crown left behind him, a bitter wail echoing in the vacated space.

Círdan chuckled with mirthless approval and bent to lift the pearl-studded coronet. "Mayhap Maglor can add this to his collection."

"So that has not changed, he still hordes the relics of the past," Elrond shook his head. "It is a grisly museum and I hate to think of Elladan living there."

"Perhaps it is time to summon your son hither, Elrond, and learn the extent of the harm done him," suggested Echuil'laer and both elf lords turned to her in surprise for they had forgot she was there.

"Aye, I will have both my sons attend me here. Send messengers to Himling, Hîren, and call them hence," agreed Elrond. 

Waiting for Elladan was the hardest task Elrond had attended in many a long year and he was reminded of the twins' nativity, for he was as anxious and nervous to see them now as he had been then. He paced unceasingly and could not carry his end of the conversation Echuil'laer dutifully tried to maintain.Yet as soon as she fell silent he found the lack of speech unbearable and so she and Círdan used the time to learn of one another, for the old Teleri Lord considered himself family and would know his great-granddaughter, for so he perceived his role. Indeed, he regaled the Lady with many tales of Eärendil's childhood that even brought a slim smile to Elrond's face.

"Nay, can this be true?" she laughed brightly. "How could he adopt a dolphin? What of the creature's kin?"

"It is indeed true," assured Elrond, remembering the tale from his elfling days.

"Aye, the dolphin was orphaned, according to Uinan, and separated from his kind. Too young to know the migration route, the creature would have been devoured by a predator whilst trying to find his kin. It was our Goddess who brought the ailing thing into the harbour and placed it in Eärendil's care," C&iacurterdan chuckled, stroking his long whiskers. "She is wise, our Uinan, and saw how the child felt abandoned when his Adar went to sea for so many long years."

That gave Elrond a jolt, for that aspect of the story had never made it past his subconscious awareness before. Never had he so identified with his grand-sire as in that moment, but before he could voice his feelings, a sharp rap on the door heralded Erestor's entrance. He rose at once for directly behind his cousin came Elrohir and Elladan, and the elder twin's hand was clasped tight with his mate's, and thus was Maglor drawn somewhat hesitantly through the portal as well.

"Adar," said Elladan, taking a faltering step. "I did not mean for you to learn this way, please believe me. I would have come to you and revealed all, in time, yet much has happened and Iwe" He was interrupted.

"Elrond, I know what you must be thinking but this is nothing like your brother's situation," Maglor said, his voice strong and filled with his assurance that what he shared with Elladan was right and true. "I am not the same as I was then. I am whole again and my mind is clear. Now do I see my errors and regret the fate that befell Elros because of me. Though centuries of time have passed, I humbly beg your forgiveness. I never meant to do him harm." Maglor bowed low, hand over his heart.

"Forgiveness?" Elrond sputtered, face gone white and eyes wide in disbelief. "Dare you ask it? Harm? Is that your definition of death and eternal separation from me and all his family?"

"Be calm, kinsman," Erestor exhorted softly. "There is much you do not know."

"You defend him now, I see," Elrond sneered. "Your naneth has no champion left to "

"Nay, Adar, do not speak so," implored Elrohir, stepping closer and blocking the seneschal from his father's fierce glare. "Erestor has done you no wrong."

"Peace!" exhorted C´rdan. "I will not have this disintegrate into a war of insults and accusations. The room is crowded, Erestor. I think it best if you and your Adar, indeed, all of us, step out and permit Elrond to speak with Elladan alone." It was plain enough the Lord of Mithlond would tolerate no opposition. "Come, we will adjourn to my private study." He opened the door and waited as Elrohir hesitated a moment and then grabbed Echuil'laer by the hand and left, followed by Erestor.

It was a minute more before Maglor would let go of his mate, for Elladan was wary of facing his father alone. At last he leaned close and stole a brief kiss, squeezing hard before releasing the hand in his grasp and ducking through the door. The silence that followed was filled with a volatile mixture of emotions: regrets, remorse, apprehension, and hope swirling through the cooling ocean breeze. Any spoken phrase might easily push any one of those elements to the fore. Neither father nor son knew where to begin or how to proceed and each waited for the other to speak first, eyes locked and bodies tense.

Yet Elrond was the parent and in the end could do nothing less than take the dominant part, though his manner was contrite rather than commanding. With the source of his disquiet removed, there was only his son before him, Elladan, who so needed that love and acceptance his law-daughter championed. It was hard to see him thus, the new bond bright in his wide grey eyes, the ravages of grief and despair evident in his depleted body, soul-bludgeoned and heart-torn to the very verge of Námo's domain. Terror and relief mingled in Elrond's mind, grateful the worst was over and Elladan had survived it, frantic that it had all transpired without any family near to aid him.

"Elladan, Ion, I cannot sayAi! To see you like this, to see you," he took a step and held out his hand and at once Elladan raced to him. They embraced, Elrond clutching his son to him, glad beyond definition just to feel the physical presence pressed close against his heart, the steady rhythm of its counterpart reassuring. "I feared you lost to me."

"Ada," Elladan managed, face buried against his father's neck, nose pressed into the thick inky tresses so like his own. "I have been so lost."

"Aye, I can understand it," soothed Elrond, firmly stroking the strong back. "There is much I might have told you to prevent this."

"Nay, it is not so," Elladan stood back, a spark of anger lighting his eyes as he scanned his father's features. "You cannot know what this has been. II lost who I wasam. I was Elros, Adar, for a time, and came through that only to learn I have no means to define myself without Elrohir beside me or you behind me. I have ever just been a shadow to you both. Now am I Maglor's shadow."

"That is not true!" Elrond's voice was fierce in denial of his son's self-assessment.

"How can you say that?" Elladan's voice rose in frustration. "Now you will tell me my own experiences and does that not confirm my words? If I am not even permitted to express what it is like to be Elladan, what kind of impostor must I be that you know better what is in my heart?"

"I do not mean that," protested Elrond, struck by the vehemence of his son's anguish. "I only meant I have never viewed you as my shadow or your brother's, nor Elros' ghost. You are nothing like him, ion, though we all bear resemblance to one another; your soul and your heart are unique." He gripped Elladan at the biceps tightly and peered at the confused face before him. "If you have felt nothing more than a mirror, then the fault for it lies with me and your mother, but mostly with me. Tell me and I will hear you. Tell me what it means to be Elladan."

Silence returned, for Elladan was not at all sure there were adequate words to describe all that had happened, nor was he certain these were things he wanted his father to know. Besides turning him even more against Maglor, there was the looming issue of his forbidden needs. He was too raw inside to endure his father's censure and disgust. To be disowned from the family, never to see his naneth or visit the valley again, these were threats too real to dismiss and so he could not confront them.

"Elladan?" Elrond prompted gently, soul twisting to watch the uncertainty and fear chasing through the haggard figure before him.

"I love him," Elladan suddenly blurted out, the sentence a rasping gasp, desperate and defiant at the same time.

Elrond physically flinched, feeling both the dread and the exultant pride in that cry, a purely involuntary declaration wrapped in rebellion and resignation, for there was no denying Elladan believed those words would sever him from all else he held dear.

"Yes," Elrond managed to nod and offer a shaky smile. "That is evident; the bond shines with the blessing of Eru. Elladan, I am not displeased for your heart to know this love."

Elladan's mouth gaped for a second or two and he shook his head as though trying to clear his ears, for he must have heard wrong. "Are you mad?" he asked, staring at the remorseful expression in which his father's face was cast. "You have made a love like this unlawful and spoken at length of its degenerate nature, naming not Eru as the source but that influence of Melkor that marred all of Arda."

"True and I have been a fool to say so, as Echuil'laer has taken pains to point out. For several days I've mulled over this moment and yet none of the things I imagined I might say seem meet. I cannot know what you are thinking right now but I assure you my intent is not to condemn you for what has happened. Indeed, I must beg forgiveness for sending you to this dire fate so ill prepared."

"This is not your doing, Adar; there is nothing to forgive," Elladan was quick to correct him. "My fate was crafted for me by Iluvatar, as everyone's is, and I have no cause to complain of it. It is a fairer one than you have lived, perhaps." He offered a hopeful smile, having expected an explosive confrontation and nothing less than complete rejection. How Echuil'laer had changed his father he couldn't imagine but the way looked clear toward reconciliation. "I am still welcome in Imladris, then?"

"Of course you are," Elrond replied in exasperation. "Imladris is your home, Elladan. You are my son. How can I not mourn this which has befallen you? Is this what a father would wish for his child? First my parents were Iost due to Maglor and those cursed stones. Then my brother he took from me and now you. Tolerance I could manage but that your chosen mate is this particular elf"

"I cannot help whom I love." Elladan turned away then and moved toward the open balcony, gazing upon the vastness of the open sea, gazing north where Himling lay anchored. "And my home is here, or wherever he dwells." He heard the sharp intake of breath but refused to look back, waiting in tense anticipation of the reply.

"I see," Elrond said quietly, sadly. "It is right for you to honour this bond, but I would hope you will always consider the valley your home, too. Your mother would not take it well if I must report that you have abandoned us completely."

"Ai, Ada, I have not abandoned you!" exclaimed Elladan, returning for another warm hug, pleased beyond all words for this affirmation. "Do you believe she will accept us?"

"Us? That is much to ask of her or me. There is history beyond that told in books which you do not know." Elrond eased his son back and met his eyes, all his concerns displayed. "I fear this bond was enjoined under duress and that it may in time bring you only more pain."

"Nay, he has told me everything. It is you who remain in the dark. There is a story to tell and once you have heard it, then I would hear your honest response to what has come to pass. All I ask is your forbearance until we have revealed what purpose we serve, for we've agreed the time for secrets must end, at least within the family. Beyond this, my love is not dependent upon history, either revealed or concealed, but upon the nature of the one my heart has chosen."

"I have learned of it, for we have confronted Ossë, Círdan and I,and forced the truth from him," said Elrond. "It is his task, not yours," he added, a flash of anger streaking through his stormy eyes. "It is wrong for him to place so large a burden upon shoulders so young, upon a heart untried."

"I am not a child, Adar, and my heart has been sorely tried," Elladan countered.

"That is not what I meant and you know it." Elrond paced along the balcony, halting and turning to Elladan. "I concede he was not the primary motivator in this scheme, yet once he knew you were not Elros he should have released you from the bond at once. He is using you."

"Nay, he needs me and he loves me, Ada. Maglor tried to send me away but I wouldn't go. I will not go, no matter who may attempt to take me from him." It was not lost on Elladan that his father had yet to speak his husband's name. "Please, Ada, let the past rest. He is not as he was then. I would have you meet Maglor as he is now, my mate and my beloved. When you hear him sing you"

"I will _not_ listen to any of his songs," Elrond snapped. "Well do I know their power over those in my lineage. Thus he enthralled you; it is clear as the sun."

"I do not deny it," Elladan shrugged, a pleased and contented smile upon his lips, for his father's objection contained his tacit consent, "but his magic works only for me. Nana has nothing to fear, Adar; he will not seek to steal you away from her."

"A poor jest, ion," Elrond warned darkly.

"Aye, forgive me," Elladan's faced flushed a bit and he went to his father. "Just speak with him, Adar, and you will become convinced. Only I will have your word that you will not give in to your temper nor seek redress for Elros' choice."

"Be at peace," Elrond murmured. It was time, after all these Ages of time gone by, to face not only his old mentor but his own guilt. "I will not do him any harm, Elladan. Go, send your husband to me."

That meeting was strained and unsettling to Elrond and Maglor felt intensely the depth to which his actions had harmed the elven lord. One look at his son confirmed his understanding, for had anyone subjected Erestor to like woes, the minstrel would not be inclined to mercy either. No words he could produce enabled him to ease the friction between them. Erestor remained aside, not feeling need to aid his Adar in this task, and Elrond and he exchanged more than one baleful glance. Clearly, neither one felt Elladan's fate deserved nor the gift of his heart the minstrel's right. That is was given was the only fact that prevented a bitter and bloody confrontation, and Maglor departed the suite without Elrond's forgiveness and certainly not his blessing.

Elrond refused to go to Himling and would meet only with Elladan alone, never with the couple together. He would not dine at Maglor's table nor suffer to be in his presence at Hîr Círdan's. No feast was held to honour the newly bonded pair and Elrond was loathe to make a formal announcement of the union. Even more reticent was he of communicating the news to Celebrian, for there was little doubt in anyone's mind of her reaction. Finally, after a two weeks of waiting to make sure Elladan was truly recovering, Elrond deemed it time to return home. Elrohir, Echuil'laer, and Erestor accompanied him, leaving the lovers to manage their new life together alone, as they would do for endless days to come.

It was not until Elrohir's wedding the following spring that Elladan returned to Imladris. He came alone. His meeting with his mother did not go well and she made no effort to conceal her shame and disgust. At least she maintained a fitting demeanour in public, but the joyous occasion was marred by her unyielding displeasure. Elladan stayed less than a month and returned thereafter every other year to serve in the patrols and endure his naneth's attempts to divide him from his mate, suffering in polite yet distant courtesy the maiden ladies presented for his acquaintance and approval. The two were never reconciled.

As for Elrond, forgiveness did finally take up residence in his heart, but not before tragedy struck the family anew. It was the assault and kidnapping of his wife that provided the catalyst, for when she could not bear to remain in Middle-earth and journeyed over sea, then Elrond broke down and found himself receiving comfort not from his sons but from the Noldorin Prince. His sons were gone, vanished into the wilds to avenge their mother and it was long years before anything was heard of them save rumour and a hasty note now and again.

Both Elrond and Echuil'laer moved to Himling, Erestor and Elrohir's eldest remaining to rule the protected vale, and there the three abandoned spouses consoled one another in their worry and grief. When at last the wayward twins returned, sick in spirit from killing, covered with the stench of battle and death, only then was real healing achieved and at long last peace grew between the House of Feänor and the House of Eärendil.


End file.
